


Heroes Are Made

by TheGirlWhoRemembers



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Courage, Family, Friendship, Growing Up, Heroism, One Shot Collection, backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 27,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoRemembers/pseuds/TheGirlWhoRemembers
Summary: You don't always become a hero by saving the world. It's the smaller things that make heroes of us all. A celebration of ordinary heroes, because heroes are made when you make a choice.





	1. Ordinary Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song _Hero_ by Superchick.
> 
> Written pre-Into Darkness, several years ago.
> 
> This is complete, and I will try and post a chapter every day.

Nikolai Viktorovich Demochev was the Careers advisor at a high school in a small Russian city. He never got any promotions. He didn’t know he became a hero the day he handed a skinny, curly-haired thirteen year old boy an application form for Starfleet Academy.

Hikaru Sulu would one day become lauded as a hero. He’d always wanted to be one. He doesn’t know he became one the day he stepped into what was about to become a punch-on to protect a gangly fifteen year old Cadet.

George Fletcher would be killed in action at just twenty two, aboard the USS Truman, just another victim of the Narada. But he became a hero at eighteen, when he didn’t laugh at his new roommate’s accent, nor mock him for his youth.

Pavel Chekov became a Federation hero at seventeen. He didn’t know he became someone’s hero when he picked up a forgotten book at the end of a class in his first week at Starfleet Academy and returned it, undamaged, with a smile.

=========

Sensei Sato was a middle aged man with a wife and two children who taught karate to kids on weekends and after school. When he helped a small Japanese boy correct his roundhouse kick technique, he became a hero.

Coach Pittman was a Phys Ed teacher at a large junior high school in San Francisco with a tough reputation. When he pulled a dark haired boy from a fight and sentenced him to Fencing Club for a month, he became a hero to go with that.

Mrs Cole was an elderly widow who lived in a little house on the edge of San Francisco, next to a nice Japanese-American family. When she showed the young son how to prune roses when he was bored during the summer holidays, she was a hero.

Hikaru Sulu would live and die an intergalactic hero. But when his sixteen year old self sent flowers to the girl in his class whose father died in a shuttle crash, he became a knight in shining armour, rescuing a damsel in distress.

==========

Admiral Madeline Carter, the first female Admiral in all of Starfleet, visited a school for the gifted in the United States of Africa and gave an inspirational speech, becoming a hero to a girl with a talented tongue. 

Penda Uhura, an ordinary girl from Africa, with no stunning talent, or God-given gifts, became a hero nonetheless. She always told her little sister she could be anything she wanted, she kept boys from her and urged her on in her studies of languages. 

Samantha Daw was a high school teacher in Africa. She stood up for a student she had never taught before, when she accused a male student of lewd behaviour and became a hero when she left her seat to do so.

Nyota Uhura would become a hero to thousands of young girls and women across the galaxy by her death. But she had been one since she looked out for her Orion roommate, listened to her story and hugged her hard, and when she tried to make sure men didn’t take advantage of her.

==========

Jonathan Burbank was a lawyer from Georgia, no wife, no kids. He was also a hero. He had been ever since he fought tooth and nail, for days on end, for his client to have custody of his daughter in a divorce case.

David McCoy was a Southern farmer, with a wife and son and little by way of the latest farming machinery. When he got a second job to pay for his son to go to medical school, when he made so many sacrifices, he became a hero.

Joanna McCoy was just a little girl of four when she walked in on her father drinking and hugged him and asked for a bedtime story. She told him, in her best grown up voice, that he had to stop drinking his special ‘juice.’ She’s been a hero ever since.

Leonard McCoy was a doctor who saved hundreds of lives in his lifetime. But when he patched up his best friend night after night, and tried to prevent him from making his mistakes, he became a hero’s hero.

=========

Keenser was a quiet, unassuming alien, the first of his kind to serve in Starfleet. When he struck up a friendship with the loud, complaining human who joined him on Delta Vega, he had no idea he had just brought him up from his lowest point and become a hero.

Lillian Kernighan eventually became a Starfleet officer on a remote outpost and never rose far in her entire career. But when she stood up to Admiral Archer when he sent his former protégé to a very remote outpost for an indeterminable time, she joined the halls of heroes.

Finella McNeil was a girl who went to a small Scottish school who never had a very exceptional life. She’s also a hero. She was the only one who didn’t laugh at the boy in her first grade class when he showed them the robot he made that promptly blew up and burnt off his eyebrows.

Montgomery Scott never left the Enterprise to go fight in battles or rescue civilians. But when he gave Ensign Tyler a pat on the back, a chat and a bottle of scotch after his girlfriend was killed on an away mission, he became a hero in his own right.

=========

Amanda Grayson was an ordinary Earth woman married to a Vulcan. When she hugged her son after each and every day, after each and every time he cried, protected and encouraged him, despite it being illogical, she then became a hero.

Admiral Richard Barnett, head of the Board at Starfleet Academy was a villain to many of the Cadets. But when he ensured that Cadets who mocked or abused their first Vulcan Cadet were adequately punished, he became a hero to one.

Nyota Uhura was an exceptional woman, and a Starfleet hero to boot, but when she didn’t insult her new Xenolinguistics instructor behind his back, she became a hero in his eyes, even before she’d even become an officer.

Spock would be lauded as a hero to all of the Federation. But since he was small, he had stood up for his mother, refused to consider his human half a disadvantage. When he turns down the Vulcan Science Academy, when he stands up the bullies, he becomes a hero.

========

George Samuel Kirk was the eldest son of a dead Starfleet hero who had run away and abandoned his brother and mother. To his younger brother, he was the first hero he’d ever met. Ever since Sam had stood up to Frank for him, keeping him from hurting his little brother, he’d been his hero.

Christopher Pike would live and die a Starfleet hero, fondly remembered by many, a hero of battles. When he interrupts a fight and reaches out to a troubled boy, trying to turn his shattered life around, he becomes a hero of a different sort.

Leonard McCoy was a doctor, not a fighter, nor a warrior. He was a healer, damn it, not a hurter. But when he stands up to the Acting Captain for his absent best friend, he becomes a hero, not of battle, but a hero nonetheless.

James T. Kirk was a hero to the Federation and to Starfleet, an idol all over the universe. But it is the smaller things the Crew remembers, the way he risks his life for them, over and over again. The way he’s always there if they need him, the way lives mean more to him than regulations. This is why he becomes a hero.

========

_Heroes are made when you make a choice._ _You could be a hero, heroes do what’s right._  
_You could be a hero, you might save a life._  
_You could be a hero, you could join the fight.  
_ _For what’s right, for what’s right._


	2. Nikolai Viktorovich Demochev

Nikolai Viktorovich Demochev cursed under his breath and took another swig of vodka from the bottle hidden in his desk drawer. He shook it experimentally, and the alcohol sloshed around loudly. It sounded about half-empty. 

_Damn! Better go easy, or I’ll get in trouble for being drunk again._

He was a Careers advisor at this tiny high school. It was a dead-end job, he wouldn’t go anywhere, and it would take a hell of a lot for him to lose this job. He never really did much, apart from listen to teenagers with massive hopes and dreams, and nod and give them forms and brochures on their PADDs. It was boring and useless and didn’t pay well. But it was the only job he could get, and he did have to eat. But it annoyed him, sitting here in his tiny cramped office, which used to be a storeroom, day in day out, watching kids flit in and out with massive dreams he knew they’d never achieve. He’d had those same dreams. They never came true. He’d tell those kids to stop dreaming, to stop saying I want to serve in Starfleet, become a multi-billionaire, a lawyer, a doctor. He wanted to tell them that they had no chance.

But he’d be fired if he did that. 

No, it was just his job to go along with what the Principal said, to encourage those kids, even those with no hope to achieve their lofty ambitions.

There is a knock at the door. He curses again and hurriedly hides the flask of alcohol in his desk drawer.

_‘Come in!’_

A skinny, curly-haired boy timidly enters. He doesn’t recognise this one. He looks too young to be a senior student. They’re usually the only ones he sees.

_‘Good afternoon, sir. I was wondering if you had a moment. I would like some advice, please.’_

Nikolai just stares at the boy.

_‘Do you see anyone else here, kid? I’ve got time now, make it snappy.’_

The boy nods, a little put off by his sarcasm and manner.

_‘Well, I am graduating this year, and I want some advice on what to do next.’_

_‘You’re graduating this year? Pull the other one, boy.’_

He doesn’t look a day older than thirteen. The boy looks offended, and bounces on his heels as he replies indignantly.

_‘I am thirteen!’_

_‘Exactly. You are too young to be graduating. What is your name?’_

He wonders whether he can report the boy to the Principal for annoying him. Probably not, but he can try anyway.

_‘Chekov, Pavel Andreievich.’_

Absent-mindedly, he pulls up the kid’s records, and realization dawns.

This boy is the genius that all the teachers talk about in the staffroom. This is the kid that they say will reach the stars. 

He doubts that. He’s seen quite a few bright kids, and few of them have actually made it. Granted, he’s never had a genius come through that door. But really, what are his chances? Youthful dreams are one thing, but the wisdom and cynicism of age is more often right.

The boy’s still standing there quietly.

_‘So where do you want to go, kid? Starfleet?’_

Apparently, the boy has a gift for physics and maths. Every student he’s seen with even the slightest aptitude for anything has wanted to go to Starfleet Academy. He doesn’t think any have made it through the entrance exam yet. He doesn’t believe this one is going to be any different.

_‘Yes! I want to go into space!’_

Nikolai glances at the application forms he has for Starfleet Academy. He never gives any student one of these. Many have gotten them from somewhere else, of course, and tried anyway. None of them have ever made it, and he thinks it is a waste of time. They’re all kids with egos and a taste for glitz, glamour and prestige. It’s not a practical job, at least not out here in this city in Russia. Why should this kid be any different?

Once upon a time, he’d been this boy, with dreams. Now, he’s an old man who does nothing but sit here and drink vodka. He’s that boy all grown up, that boy whose dreams passed him by. He’d old and bitter and cynical, pessimistic to a fault. 

But this boy who’s standing in front of him is young and fresh, full of idealistic dreams. They say he’s a genius, they say he’ll make it to the stars. He knows he won’t. But perhaps he should give this one a chance. Perhaps, he really should believe. Perhaps, just this once, he can make an exception. After all, this boy, according to his records, goes through a lot in this school. Perhaps he’ll give him a break.

He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a PADD download.

_‘Here, take this, boy. It’s the application form.’_

_‘Thank you, sir! Thank you very much!’_

_‘Don’t come crying back to me when you don’t get in, boy. Dreams don’t come true. Stay grounded whatever you do. Those people out in the world, who say that you’ll reach the stars, they’re wrong._

_‘I know, sir, I know. That is very good advice, I will remember it. But there is always hope, and I believe I can do it!’_

He shakes his head. This kid’s optimism is ridiculous. He waves him out of his office.

It is a couple months later when he hears Pavel Chekov has been admitted to Starfleet Academy. He shakes his head in disbelief, but the next year, he hands a Starfleet Application form to the girl who asks.

It is three and a half years later when he hears Pavel Chekov is a Federation hero. He spits out his vodka in disbelief. The kid’s actually done it. Perhaps self-belief gets you somewhere. Perhaps dreams really can come true. 

He stops drinking on the job. He starts giving advice.

After all, wisdom comes with age.


	3. Hikaru Sulu

Hikaru Sulu groaned as he walked down the corridor, his hands full of PADDs. 

_Why do we get so much homework? And so many Xenolinguistics translations! I’m going to be a Pilot, not a Communications Officer! Not to mention the Physics. I know I need to know some, but why do I need Transporter Theory?_

He keeps heading down the corridors towards the Library. As he walks, he notices a crowd gathering. He slows down, curious. The small crowd seems to be comprised mostly of burly, male, human Cadets, and they seem angry. They’re gathered in a circle, like sharks circling their prey. He catches a glimpse of curly hair.  
He can make out angry, taunting voices over the sound of the other Cadets walking past.

‘Fifteen years old?’

‘What is Starfleet thinking?’

‘We need men, not boys!’

‘Particularly not boys who can’t even speak properly!’

‘Leave me alone! Stop eet!’

‘Go back to where you come from, little boy!’

‘And stop making us all look stupid!’

Hikaru has made his way through the crowd that has slowly gathered in anticipation of a fight, and he can clearly see the victim now. It’s a curly-haired, young, Russian, Cadet, named Chekov. He has a solitary PADD in his hands. He’s also upset and angered.

As he watches, one of the Cadets reaches out and snatches the PADD out of Chekov’s hands. He passes it to his friend, who holds it high in the air, out of the younger Cadet’s reach.

‘Come get it, little boy!’

‘Or are you too scared? Are you going to run off to the Board and tell on us now?’

‘Or are you going to run home to Mummy and tell her that the big, scary, grown-up Cadets are being mean?’

‘Give zat back to me!’

Chekov finally loses it, and throws a punch at the Cadet holding his PADD. Hikaru immediately drops his armful of PADDs, and pushes his way into the circle, launching himself at a burly Cadet about to throw a punch at the Russian.

_Attacking a kid....how low can you go?_

He knows he’s going to get into trouble for fighting, but he doesn’t care. It’s not right, and he will not stand by and let someone be bullied. He’s frankly disgusted at the perpetrators, as well as those who walked by and did nothing.

It’s after a visit to Sickbay, and a good dressing down by one of the Admirals, that he finally gets a chance to speak to Cadet Chekov. He’s never met him before, but most Cadets have heard of the boy genius.

‘Cadet Sulu!’

He stops walking away from the Admiral’s office, and turns to face the younger Cadet. Chekov’s got a few bruises, but it’s nothing that time wouldn’t heal. The Sickbay staff did a good job.

‘Zank you for doing zat! Eet vas a wery nice thing to do!’

Sulu smiles.

‘It’s nothing, Chekov. I’d do it for anyone. It wasn’t right of those Cadets to be bullying you.’

Chekov shrugs.

‘Eet’s nothing I’m not used to.’

Sulu’s shocked.

‘This happens often?’

‘Da, zey do not like me, you see. Zey are alvays making fun of my accent.’

‘That’s not grounds to attack someone.’

‘I threw ze first punch.’

‘You were provoked. And they were abusing you verbally.’

‘Vat ees zat expression? Steecks and stones...’

‘May break my bones, but words will never hurt me. It’s not true, Chekov.’

‘Call me Pavel.’

‘Hikaru, then. Look, Pavel. Next time anyone gives you any of that crap, come find me. I’ll make sure they pay for it. You’re a little on the skinny side to be fighting those heavyweights.’

Pavel grins at him.

‘Newer underestimate a Russian, Hikaru. I can outrun zem, da? And you are not exactly a heawyveight either.’

Hikaru smiles wryly.

‘Never underestimate what you can do with a sharp sword, Pavel.’

It’s the next day, in the Library, and Hikaru is trying to get his head around his Transporter Theory homework. A familiar face, with curly hair and big eyes, slips into the seat beside him.

‘Good morning, Hikaru!’

‘Morning, Pavel.’

‘Ees zat Transporter Theory?’

‘Yes. Unfortunately.’

‘Eet is easy! Here, let me teach you!’

Hikaru grins.

‘You go around helping people with their homework?’

Pavel shakes his head.

‘Nyet. Only my friends.’

And he grins even wider.


	4. George Fletcher

George Fletcher grinned as he unpacked his bags. Today was his very first day at Starfleet Academy. His very first day in college.

_One day I’ll be up in the stars, exploring space, boldly going where no one has gone before!_

He sighs and mock-frowns as he looks down at his timetable and the PADDs full of downloaded textbooks.

_But first I have to survive all of these classes...not looking forward to some of these...but ah well..._

He is pulled out of his thoughts by a voice at the door.

‘Zis ees so annoying! Cadet Authorization Code sewen-six-Wictor-Zulu-sewen!’

‘Access denied.’

‘I am sure zat vas ze right code! Hello, ees anyone zere? Could you please let me een?’

George raises any eyebrow. Frankly, he’s never heard anyone mangle their Authorization Code that badly. It’s actually kind of funny...but he refrains from laughing, and opens the door. As the door slides open, it reveals a young, curly-haired boy of about thirteen, carrying a large bag and looking incredibly annoyed.

George is stunned.

_Since when did Starfleet admit kids?_

The boy is glaring at the computer.

‘Zat zing hates me.’

George tries very hard not to laugh.

‘I’m sure it doesn’t. It’s a computer. It can’t.’

‘You newer know. You are Cadet George Fletcher, da?’

‘Yes, yes I am.’

‘I am your roommate! My name ees Chekov, Pavel Andreievich! Neece to meet you!’

George smiles, slightly confused and stunned by the speed of events. He does remember seeing that name on the rooming list, but he didn’t expect him to be so young....

‘Nice to meet you too, Cadet Chekov.’

‘Please, call me Pavel!’

‘Okay, Pavel. Umm, don’t mean to offend you, but how old are you?’

Pavel doesn’t look offended; instead he bounces up and down on his heels and grins.

‘I am thirteen! But I vill be fourteen next month!’

George bites his tongue to prevent himself from wondering out loud whether Starfleet Academy had lowered its admission age. He has a feeling that there’s a reason for his roommate’s youth. He also has a feeling that he won’t take too kindly if he said so.

‘I’m eighteen. Nineteen in six months.’

Pavel keeps grinning.

‘You are almost as old as my brothers! Zey live in Russia...’

Pavel then proceeds to tell him all about his family, Russia, vodka, Russia, great Russian inventions, Russia...

George waits for a lull in the lecture, hoping to finish his unpacking without insulting his roommate.

‘Umm...Pavel?’

He stops.

‘Da?’

‘It’s great hearing about Russia and all, but I kind of need to unpack...’

The boy looks at him with big, puppy dog eyes, incredibly apologetic. George feels like he’s just kicked a puppy and thrown it over the fence.

‘Oh. I have been, vat ees ze vord?’

George smiles as he waits for his roommate to think of the word. Standard is his second language, and as George only speaks one himself, there’s no sense in teasing him. After all, he can’t really talk. He doesn’t speak Russian, so it’s already an achievement, and something over him, that Pavel speaks two.

‘Babbling! Da, zat ees ze vord. Sorry!’

‘It’s fine, Pavel. Now, we’d better unpack.’

‘Da. Zat ees a good idea.’

When George sees the incredibly difficult classes his roommate is taking, and the difficult maths he does just for fun, he knows why he’s at the Academy at thirteen.

When he sees the scars that Pavel has, and hears the stories, both the ones from when he was in high school, as well as the ones from here at the Academy, he is so glad he didn’t laugh at his accent. He is so glad that he didn’t tease him for his age.

When he can’t understand his Stellar Cartography notes, he is so glad he befriended Chekov, Pavel Andreievich.


	5. Pavel Chekov

Pavel Chekov grins to himself as he completes his Astrophysics pre-test. It’s pretty easy. Soon enough, he finishes and takes a look around, bored.

Sitting next to him is a dark-haired girl of about his own age. That’s thirteen. Quite a rarity at Starfleet Academy. She seems to be finished as well, but she keeps her head down, small and silent, as if she’s scared to be noticed.

He glances around. No one else is finished yet. His roommate, George, is sitting two seats to his left, chewing on his stylus absent-mindedly. There’s a blond young woman sitting in front of him, furiously completing calculations. An Asian man sitting in front of and two seats to the right of him is tapping his stylus on his desk in a complex rhythm.

All of a sudden, he hears a crashing noise behind him. It sounds like a PADD falling to the floor.

He hears Commander Spock’s voice. Their instructor is famed for his difficult assignments and emotionless manner.

‘Cadet, kindly refrain from falling asleep in class.’

Soon enough, the bell goes, and the class is dismissed. He can hear the Cadet apologising profusely to Commander Spock.

Chekov shakes his head at this sorry state of affairs. Who could fall asleep in Astrophysics? It’s one of his many favourite subjects! As he packs up his PADDs, he notices that there is a book, a real paper book, left on the desk beside him. It must belong to the dark-haired girl who was sitting next to him. She had rushed out of class, barely pausing to look as she packed away her things. He remembers when he used to do that, back in high school. Rushing out, being timid, hiding, trying to shrink and disappear. Those are the signs of someone who’s had a tough time in school. Those are the signs to someone who’s been bullied. At least, in his experience they are.

It’s hardly surprising; the girl who was beside him is thirteen, he thinks, and therefore a child genius. It’s a double-edged sword, a gift and a curse. You suffer for it, and you gain for it. It’s strange that way.

He picks up the real paper book. He hurries out of class, clutching the book, looking for a dark-haired young girl with a braid down her back.

 He makes an educated guess and runs to the Library. There she is, walking briskly towards the Library, and towards him.

‘Excuse me, you left zis in Physics.’

He smiles and hands her the book. It’s Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Russian literature. Perhaps he’s about to make a new friend. She smiles back shyly, as if she wasn’t expecting something nice like this. It’s as if she’s expecting it wouldn’t come back, or it would come back damaged. Perhaps that’s what she has come to expect. He can empathize with that.

‘Thank you...’

‘Chekov, Pavel Andreievich. Call me Pavel.’

Her smile grows wider and more confident. He thinks he’s made a new friend.

‘Thank you Pavel. I’m Ellen, Ellen Lee.’

‘Neece to meet you, Ellen.’

‘It’s really nice of you to bring my book back.’

‘Eet’s nothing.’

‘I realized it was missing, but I wasn’t expecting to get it back, particularly not in one piece. You know, high school would have been tough for people like us- ‘

She stops suddenly, as if worried she had offended him. He shrugs. It doesn’t offend him. It’s pretty obvious what they are, and he was doing some watching, some observing, himself.

‘Ve whiz kids have to stick together, da?’

She grins.

‘Yes, yes we do, Pavel.’

He wonders whether they have anything else in common. He infers they do. They’re both child geniuses who like physics, so what about hobbies?

‘Vould you like to play chess sometime?’

She smiles again.

‘That would be great.’

Birds of a feather flock together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellen is the OC from my earlier Star Trek stories. I'm no longer really very happy with the ones that I didn't post here; if you want to read them (be warned, they're not that good) head over to Fanfiction.net. I have the same pen name over there.


	6. Jiro Sato

Jiro Sato was having a very bad day. His wife was furious with him. That was rather understandable on her part, he’d forgotten their anniversary. His daughter had only told him that morning that she was going on a date with a boy. That was every father’s worry! His little baby was only fifteen! He’d never met the boy! And his son, he’d gone and broken their holo-vid player, and crashed his hoverbike. All in all, it had been a terrible day.

Jiro Sato was also a karate teacher, as well as a family man. He taught at a small dojo after school and on weekends. It was not a very well- payed job, in fact, the pay was terrible. But he didn’t mind, because it not only gave him a chance to practice his own karate, it also allowed him to do something for the community, and interact with the local children and teenagers.

He was usually happy about this, and didn’t mind if the kids played up a bit. But today he was grumpy and annoyed, and the last thing he needed was the students acting up, which was precisely what occurred.

Two of the boys, set an exercise in which to practice their roundhouse kicks, were arguing instead.

‘Your roundhouse kicks suck!’

‘No, they don’t!’

‘Yes, they do!’

‘No, they don’t!’

Jiro sighed as he walked over to settle this conflict. This was a very, very bad day.

‘Mitchell! Hikaru!’

Both boys turned towards him.

‘Yes, Sensei?’

‘Remember the code? We karateka are always respectful to all people, and we never fight or tease each other in the dojo.’

‘But I wasn’t being mean to Hikaru!’

‘Yes, you were!’

‘No, I wasn’t!’

Jiro pulls at his hair and tries not to scream.

‘Mitchell, Hikaru, stop it! I will speak to your mothers if you do not stop now!’

He decides that for his own sanity, he must separate these two. He instead pairs Hikaru with a quiet and unassuming girl, Keiko, and sends Mitchell to work with Susan.

The girls are always easier to teach than the boys.

They also do not give him migraines like the one he can feel coming on.

He is rather irritated for the rest of the class.

To his surprise, after class, Hikaru Sulu, about eight, comes to speak to him.

‘Mr Sensei Sato?’

‘Yes, Hikaru?’

He’s rather exasperated, his patience is wearing thin.

‘Are my roundhouse kicks really bad?’

_Like most of the young children in this class, Hikaru’s technique leaves a lot to be desired, but he’s not really bad._

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you!’

_Why are children such good lie detectors?_

‘Don’t listen to Mitchell, Hikaru. Your kicks are just as good as his.’

The boy doesn’t seem pacified.

‘But I want to be better than him! Everyone can improve, right? Will you teach me?’

Jiro sighs. He wants to go home and relax, and get rid of this headache. But frankly, does he want to go home? He shudders to think of what his wife might do if he showed up...

‘Alright. Now, remember, you have to pivot before you kick...’

The boy nods solemnly.

‘Then raise your knee...remember, how high you kick depends on how high your knee is.’

Hikaru wobbles on one leg as he waits for the next instruction.

‘Then kick...and remember, flick!’

And he kicks.

They practice until Hikaru’s mother comes in and says that they really must go, because it’s nearly dinner time, and thanks him for taking the time to teach her son.

Jiro smiles, and heads home, feeling much rejuvenated. He stops off to pick up a conciliatory gift for his wife, and he is surprised when he is forgiven.

_Karma...I have never been so glad of its existence._


	7. Matthew Pittman

Matthew Pittman, better known as Coach Pittman, was seriously annoyed as he walked the corridors of Jackson Middle School in San Francisco.

This wasn’t normally his yard duty shift. One of the other teachers was sick, so he had to cover for them. He’d been teaching all day and was tired. He wanted a break.

So of course, he got the opposite. As he rounded a bend, outside the Cafeteria, he noticed a scuffle in full swing. He shouts out to the fighters.

‘Break it up!’

Of course, they don’t listen.

He runs up to the wrestling mass and pulls out the first one he can get his hands on. He’s lucky; it seems that the one he pulls out is the one that the other three are trying to beat up, and the stop.

‘My office, now!’

Still keeping a firm hold on the collar of the Asian boy he pulled out, he shepherds the other three boys to his office. He has some detentions to hand out.

The first three boys, the ones he didn’t pull out, turn out to be fairly open-and-shut cases. They’re all in the eighth grade, bullies the three of them. They’ve got records as long as his arm and he sends them off with detentions to the Principal’s office.

He thinks the fourth boy would be the same. And he is wrong.

‘Name?’

‘Hikaru Sulu, sir.’

He pulls up the boy’s file on his PADD.

He’s in seventh grade, again with a record for fighting.

‘So tell me, Hikaru, why were those three beating you up?’

Hikaru looks him square in the eye as he speaks.

‘Because I stopped them from taking some kid’s lunch money.’

Well, that’s a new one. Most of the time, it’s due to petty insults, or revenge or the like. But this is the most original excuse that he’s heard in a long time.

Of course, he doesn’t believe him. The students that he’s seen before give him no reason to. The other three boys had all claimed that Hikaru started it.

But there’s something in the back of his mind that keeps nagging him. He skims over Hikaru’s records. Lots of detentions for fighting...but every time, he’s claimed that what he was doing was the right thing to do. Preventing theft of lunch money, beating up bullies, trying to stop fights...

And it seems the detentions never seem to stop him.

‘And why did you do that?’

Again, the boy looks him in the eye.

‘It was the right thing to do, sir.’

‘Did you think to consider the consequences?’

For the first time, the boy looks down at his feet and squirms.

‘Err...no, sir. I just saw it happening, and just jumped in, I guess...’

Coach Pittman takes a moment to reflect. He comes to a detention.

‘Hikaru, I’m not going to give you detention.’

The boy looks up in surprise.

‘You’re not?’

‘No. I’m giving you a chance. Don’t waste it. Come to the Gym after school on Thursday, every Thursday for a month.’

The boy looks confused.

‘I thought you weren’t giving me detention, sir?’

‘It’s not a detention. It’s Fencing Club. Bring your Gym gear.’

‘Um...thank you, sir.’

Hikaru looks unsure as he leaves, as if he’s wondering whether this is a punishment or not. But he shows up to the Gym on Thursday after school anyway.

The first week, he seems confused and reluctant.

The second week, he gets the hang of it. He smiles for the first time.

Coach Pittman discovers this is the longest time he’s been without getting into a fight.

The third week, he wins his first match.

Three weeks and counting.

The fourth week, he’s early.

And from then on, Hikaru Sulu is a fixture at the Fencing Club. He keeps it up well into high school, he hears, and his passion grows.

He manages to keep out of most fights for the rest of his school life. But Coach Pittman knew he’d never cure the boy’s heroic leanings. He keeps out of trouble, mostly. But sometimes, he says, there are some things that you have to do, because they’re right.

He’s not surprised, years later, when he sees the holo-news, that Hikaru Sulu is now a Federation hero.

He called it first.


	8. Anita Cole

Anita Cole sighed to herself as she hobbled down her garden path, leaning down on a walking stick for support. It was a beautiful summer afternoon. It was about the right time of year to do the summer pruning of her roses, she thinks. She’s known all around the neighbourhood for her stunning flowers.

As she turns around slowly to go fetch her pruning shears, she notices a figure on the sidewalk. It’s the Sulu boy from next door. He’s a nice boy, usually, but lately he seems bit, well, off. His parents are very nice people; they’re a normal Japanese-American family. She knows it’s not right to pry into other people’s affairs, but she’s noticed of late that the boy, now eleven, may be falling in with the wrong crowd, and in general, heading down a not-so-good path.

Today, he’s just standing on the sidewalk, shuffling his feet, looking down, kicking a rock. He seems very bored. They’re about a month into the summer vacation, and reminiscing back to her childhood, this is about the time when boredom kicks in.

Last year it was around this time that a gang of unruly youths completely destroyed much of her garden. She knows the consequences of bored teenagers just as well as the next person.

Reaching the little shelf on her porch where she keeps her gardening equipment, she fetches two pairs of pruning shears.

Hikaru Sulu is most certainly not a teenager yet, but what was ever the harm in a little prevention?

She walks, slowly, up to the boy on the sidewalk.

‘Good afternoon, Hikaru.’

The black-haired boy turns to face her.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Cole.’

‘How are you today, Hikaru?’

The boy shrugs.

‘I’m okay, I guess. And you?’

‘I’m very well, thank you. I’m pruning my roses today. Would you like to join me?’

The boy looks from the roses to her, and back again.

‘I don’t really know how.’

His tone of voice indicates he’s not really interested. She smiles to herself.

‘I will teach you.’

She places the shears, rather firmly into his hands, and starts walking back up her garden path. Halfway up, she turns back to face him.

‘Well, are you coming or not?’

Hikaru just stands there for a moment, then he shrugs again.

‘I guess it’s better than doing nothing. No offence, Mrs Cole.’

She keeps her smile to herself.

Over a couple hours that afternoon, she teaches the young boy how to clip the rose stems just so, ensuring beautiful blooms come fall. She teaches him just how much to remove, to ensure healthy growth, but not kill the bush. He is a quick learner, and as the afternoon wears on, she can see him slowly warming up to gardening.

When they’ve finished, she invites him in for a spot of tea and some cookies that she baked herself. He eats with the characteristic hunger of boys his age. She smiles indulgently. He’s a growing boy who needs his food.

‘Thank you, Mrs Cole.’

‘You are welcome, Hikaru. Why don’t you take some of the cookies with you, seeing you liked them so much?’

The boy blushes slightly and wraps a couple of cookies into a serviette.

‘Thanks for teaching me how to prune roses too. To tell the truth, I-‘

He stops suddenly, the blush creeping up to his ears.

‘Go on. I won’t tell anyone.’

‘I really enjoyed gardening. Do you think I could help you prune the roses next year?’

She smiles broadly. She’s getting on in years. She will need help with her pruning again next year.

‘You are always welcome in my garden, Hikaru.’

The boy grins and leaves, returning to his own home.

Anita Cole knows that she should never spy on her neighbours, but she can’t help noticing the impressive garden that grows in the Sulu family backyard over the years, tended to by their son Hikaru.

And there is no way she can’t notice the bouquets of bright flowers left on her doorstep every now and then.

But she doesn’t tell anyone of course. She did promise Hikaru she wouldn’t. The now-teenage boy has a reputation to maintain. Green thumbs keep secrets for fellow green thumbs.


	9. Hikaru Sulu

Hikaru Sulu laughs as he walks out of the boys’ change rooms with his friends after fencing training.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam, Matt, Mikeru. Good training, guys.’

‘See ya, Hikaru.’

‘Later.’

‘Same time next week, right?’

He nods.

‘See you then.’

The other three boys walk out the front gate of the school and start heading towards their neighbourhood. They live near the school. As for him, he’s got a little further to go. He walks towards the shuttle station.

His shuttle is late, as always.

He sighs and flops down onto the seat, tapping his foot restlessly. A viewscreen next to the shuttle timetable plays the news report. He listens half-heartedly, he’s not usually one for the news, but he’s bored.

The telecast finishes playing a clip of the press conference announcing the commissioning of a new starship by Starfleet, the first in the Constitution Class. It will be called the Enterprise.

‘And on a more tragic note, there has been a shuttle crash in downtown San Francisco. 54-year-old Patrick Dawson was killed, with seventeen others in intensive care...’

At that moment, his shuttle pulls in, and glad that it’s finally here, he boards and heads home.

By the next day, he’s forgotten all about the shuttle crash.

Hikaru’s sitting in class the next morning when he notices that his seatmate is not there.

He’s in Calculus, taught by Mr Fogarty, who must be the only teacher who still forces his students to abide by a seating plan. Hikaru’s seatmate is a rather popular girl who usually just ignores him. He doesn’t like her very much, and the feeling’s mutual.

But they’re working on an assignment, a partnered assignment, and he’s got little choice but to work with her. It’s rather inconvenient she’s not here; he hopes she hasn’t wagged just to go shopping or whatever girls do.

But she doesn’t walk in late halfway through the period, nor does she appear in any class after that or at lunch. Finally, at the end of school, he has no choice, as the assignment is due tomorrow, but to find her posse of friends and ask her whereabouts.

‘Hey, Katrina! Lauren! Chloe!’

The three girls turn to look at him, after he’s pursued them halfway down the corridor. They don’t usually talk to him; he’s just the weird Japanese boy in the Fencing Club.

But today there’s something different. They seem sad, quieter. Their mascara’s smudged, and they’re not gossiping constantly for once.

‘Where’s Melissa? We’ve got a Calculus assignment, it’s due to-‘

Katrina glares at him.

‘Shut up, Hikaru.’

He fumes. What in the hell has he done?

But Katrina’s got tear tracks down her cheeks, even though she’s still glaring at him with all intensity. Chloe offers a little more explanation.

‘After everything that she’s gone through, you still only care about a Calculus assignment?’

‘What? Damn it-‘

Lauren finally gets it through her head that he doesn’t know what’s going on.

‘Wait, you don’t know, do you?’

Katrina looks up from sobbing into Chloe’s shoulder.

‘Her dad’s dead.’

‘He was killed in a shuttle crash yesterday.’

_Wait a moment...her name’s Melissa Dawson...._ ‘ _there has been a shuttle crash in downtown San Francisco. 54-year-old Patrick Dawson was killed...’_

Her father was killed in a shuttle crash yesterday. No wonder she’s not here. He suddenly feels horrible.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

The three girls just keep crying, but Lauren stops long enough to say a couple words.

‘Just-just go. Go!’

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

But that horrible feeling still gnaws at him. It’s a mixture of guilt, and there’s sadness too. He’s sorry for her, he really is. He couldn’t imagine losing either of his parents, he really can’t.

So when he gets home that night, he knows what he’s going to do.

He enters his backyard, mind already buzzing away.

He heads over to his plants, and taking the secateurs from his pocket, selects multiple blooms. He arranges them into a bouquet.

He runs to the garage and gets onto his hoverbike, heading for an address that he got off Matt, who got it off Sam, who got it off Mikeru, who got it off Jonah, who got it off Chloe.

It’s dark when he gets there.

He drops the bouquet off on the front step, with a note attached.

_Dear Melissa,_

_I’m sorry for your loss._

_People are going to say that to you so many times, but I’m genuinely sorry._

_I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, because I could never imagine losing one of my parents._

_Again, I’m sorry._

_Take your time coming back, don’t worry about anything._

_Hikaru Sulu (Your Calculus seatmate.)_

He rides home.

He doesn’t see her for another week and a half.

One Tuesday morning, she slips into her seat in Calculus, turns to him, smiles, and speaks, of her own violation, for the first time in his memory.

‘Thanks. It was really nice of you.’

He smiles back.

‘No problem. Chivalry dictates that one must always rescue a damsel in distress.’

’You really are a knight in shining armour, aren’t you?’

He grins.

‘Most certainly, my lady.’


	10. Madeline Carter

Admiral Madeline Carter, aged ninety-eight, rubs her temples, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. Before her sits a large stack of PADDs, full of paperwork, paperwork in need of completing.

She’s Starfleet’s first female Admiral, but the job is not as ground -breaking or exciting as the press put it out to be. Most of the time, it involves sitting behind this desk and signing PADD after PADD of boring, dull, set-form paperwork. Mostly it’s leave requests, reports, minor promotional paperwork, reports, requests to go speak at functions, reports...

Sometimes, actually, most of the time, she wishes that she was back out in the field, in space, Captain of a starship, boldly going where no one has gone before. But then again, she is an Admiral, she’s Starfleet’s first female Admiral and she’s proud of that. She’s got a duty now, she knows, and that duty is what makes this paperwork bearable. She’s not just one Admiral; she’s an inspiration now, a poster girl. She wants to inspire the next generation of female Starfleet Officers.

But even so, that doesn’t mean she has to like paperwork...

There is a chime at the door.

‘Come in. It’s not locked.’

Her Yeoman, Alice, steps in.

‘Good afternoon, Admiral. You have a request from the East African School for the Gifted in the United States of Africa. They want you to go make a speech for their Orientation Day.’

Madeline sighs. She gets hundreds of these requests every week. She very rarely manages to make them. And it’s not usually her choice.

‘Will I be going, Alice?’

‘Well, you just happen to be at a conference in the United States of Africa the day before...’

She smiles. This is why she’s an Admiral. This is why she’s still working.

‘I’d better start writing my speech then.’

Alice smiles, makes a note on her PADD and swishes out the door.

It’s a few weeks later when she’s standing behind a lectern, in a large hall, in the United States of Africa. The Principal of the East African School for the Gifted has just announced her, and there is silence in the room. Everyone here knows about Starfleet. Many of these kids believe that they’ll make it one day, to the stars, boldly going. They all listen intently, enraptured.

She begins her speech.

‘Once, a very long time ago, I was as young as you were. I had your hopes, your dreams...’

As she speaks, her eyes sweep across the sea of youthful faces, varying in age from five to eighteen.

‘I decided when I was around your age that I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to achieve something, leave a legacy...’

As her gaze returns to the front row, she catches the eye of one of the students. A very young, dark-skinned girl, about five years old, straight dark hair in a ponytail, eyes focused and intense.

It’s that intensity that draws her in. It’s somewhat disconcerting, but it’s strong and determined and so sure, that she finds it difficult to look away. The girl seems to sense that, but is not perturbed in the slightest.

The rest of the speech passes strangely quickly.

‘Follow your dreams. Believe in yourself. Reach for the stars.’

The girl smiles at that, nodding, the light in her eyes stronger than before.

About an hour later, as she is being ushered quickly away, after a tour of the school, she hears a voice behind her, an unfamiliar voice.

She spins around.

It’s the girl from the front row, with the determined eyes.

‘Pardon my intrusion, Admiral. But I would very much like to thank you for visiting our school. You’re a hero to me, a trailblazer. One day, I’m going to be in Starfleet, and I want to be the best Communications Officer in the ‘Fleet. There are people who don’t think I can, or should, because I’m a girl. But you’re the first female Admiral, and you showed them. Thank you.’

The girl attempts to stand to attention. Madeline smiles.

_She’s very, very confident. Some may say that she’s full of herself, but there’s something about her, a steely determination, an impression that she doesn’t care what everyone else thinks. Besides, since when could five year olds speak so coherently? She’s got to be something special._

By the time Nyota Uhura is old enough to attend the Academy, Madeline Carter is long retired, forever immortalised in history as Starfleet’s first female Admiral.

By the time Nyota Uhura becomes an Admiral herself, Madeline Carter is long dead.

But neither of them ever forgot the intense young girl in the front row, or the Admiral standing and speaking at the lectern.


	11. Penda Uhura

Penda Uhura gently took her baby sister from her mother’s arms, marvelling at the little life she held.

‘She’s so little!’

Her mother smiled, and her father laughed, putting an arm around his daughter and whispering into her ear.

‘Yes, but soon she will be as big as you!’

Penda looked up at her father, and with the honesty of a child, shook her head.

‘But I’m four! I’m a big girl!’

It was her mother’s turn to laugh.

‘But in four years, Nyota will be as big as you are now!’

* * *

‘Mommy! Nyota broke my doll!’

The two Uhura daughters skidded to a halt in front of their mother, clutching at her skirts, eyes wide, both pleading their cases.

‘Mommy! Penda’s wrong! I didn’t break her doll!’

‘Oh, yeah? You were the only one who could have! I left it there-‘

Little Nyota, only three, bursts into tears. Seven-year-old Penda pouts.

‘Mommy! You have to believe me! Nyota broke it!’

‘I couldn’t have! I was reading Daddy’s book, the one in French, all afternoon!’

‘But you can’t read!’

‘Yes, I can!’

‘No, you can’t! You’re only three! I didn’t start reading-‘

‘But I can read!’

Their mother sighs and rubs her temples.

‘Penda, your father and I have explained this to you. Your sister is special, and she can read-‘

‘But she can’t read French!’

It is Nyota’s turn to pout as she turns indignantly towards her older sister.

‘Yes I can! Maybe not very well, but I’m learning! Daddy let me load a French dictionary onto his PADD.’

This is news to her mother.

‘Nyota, darling, can you really read French?’

The little three-year-old nods emphatically, her ponytail shaking.

‘Yes!’

‘That’s wonderful, darling! Come, show Mommy!’

They walk away, and Penda and the doll are forgotten.

_Mommy and Daddy always like Nyota more..._

* * *

‘Penda...’

Sixteen-year-old Penda put down her Maths PADD and unlocked her door, revealing her sister Nyota, aged twelve.

‘I need your help.’

Penda rolled her eyes. Since when did her genius sister ever need her help?

‘As if you do, Nyota. You’re a genius for a reason.’

Her sister brushes off the sarcasm. The relationship between the two sisters is somewhat tense, with both being of a difficult age. Most of the time, they’re alright, sharing a sisterly bond, but today, Penda is annoyed and buried under Maths homework.

‘That doesn’t mean I always know all the answers.’

Nyota tends to come to her sister for advice, seeking wisdom that comes with age, generally about things she’s uncomfortable talking with her parents about.

Penda sighs. She just can’t be mean.

‘Alright, spit it out.’

‘I’m not sure if I should continue Xenolinguistics.’

Penda is puzzled. Her sister has a talented tongue. She’s marvellous at languages. Why would she want to stop studying alien languages?

‘Why?’

Nyota sighs and slumps her shoulders.

‘You know how I’ve been trying to learn Vulcan, right?’

Penda nods.

‘Well, I don’t think I can do it! It’s like trying to learn how to speak and think all over again! Maybe I should just give up...’

Penda grabs her sister’s shoulders and looks her square in the eye.

‘Don’t you ever let me hear you say that again. Never give up. Never surrender. You can do it, Nyota! You’re a genius for a reason! Look, if anyone I know can learn Vulcan, it’s you.’

Nyota nods hesitantly, gathers up her PADD and stands to leave.

‘Thanks, Penda. You’re the best big sister ever.’

And that is payment enough. She might never be a genius, she might never be the favoured child, but the title of best big sister makes her happy.

* * *

Penda Uhura could hear the boys sniggering as she sat under a tree in the local park. It was always these same boys, checking out girls, day in, day out. She ignored them, mostly.

But all that changed the day her sister was one of those girls being checked out.

Nyota Uhura was fourteen and walking through the park after school one day. At fourteen, she was already a great beauty, though she remained relatively oblivious to many of her male admirers. At least, that’s what they thought. Penda knew her sister understood, but she was a focused young woman, and refused to let them deter her focus.

But as she strode past in her short school skirt, she heard several of the boys wolf-whistle and jeer. Why the school made them wear such short skirts, Penda never understood, but all she could feel was complete anger at why these tools would treat her baby sister like a piece of meat!

Nyota didn’t notice, she had an earpiece in, doubtlessly listening to Romulan translations or the like.

But Penda most definitely did.

With the determination of the Uhura women, she strode up to the boys, and spoke in a low, neutral voice, deceptively free of anger, and all the more threatening for it.

‘If I ever hear you do that to my little sister again, I will personally make sure that you’ll never be able to make so much as a sound again, and rest assured that I will do it in the most painful way possible. Is that clear?’

They nod, terrified.

Penda stalks off and joins her sister, who takes out her earpiece, head cocked to one side with curiosity.

‘What did I miss?’

Penda smiles.

‘Nothing, just doing my duty as the universe’s best big sister.’

And the two sisters walk home, side by side.


	12. Samantha Daw

Samantha Daw was currently engrossed in marking her students’ Maths tests.

_27y + 37x= 2198. If y is 290.9871, then what is x?_

_John owns a music shop-_

She is interrupted by the entrance of Martha Chan, a fellow Maths teacher at the East African School for the Gifted, and a personal friend.

‘Hello, Sam.’

‘Good morning, Martha.’

‘Have you heard?’

Samantha shakes her head. She’s been marking Maths tests all morning, and hasn’t heard a thing about what’s happening around the school. Schools are places of gossip, even for teachers. There’s always something happening. Martha enlightens her friend.

‘Do you know the Uhura girl? The 11th year student? The linguistic genius?’

Samantha searches her memory. She doesn’t teach linguistics, and all of the students at this school are exceptional...

‘I think I might’ve heard the name somewhere...’

‘Well, she’s made a complaint against one of the other students!’

That might not sound like much, but such complaints are few and far between at this school. The students are rather well-behaved, and there are few issues with bullying and the like.

Samantha raises an eyebrow. Even so, it does seem strange that Martha has seemingly gone to so much trouble to tell her this, and the sensationalist way in which she informed her is bizarre...

Martha continues.

‘And you won’t believe what the complaint is for! Apparently, she’s accusing him of sexual harassment and lewd behaviour!  He probably just asked her out a few too many times. The Uhura girl is a feisty one, so I’ve heard. But it’s so unlike her, she’s an excellent student...’

Samantha can see how Martha might think this is trivial. This sort of stuff happens at other schools, but not here. Not in the best school in all of East Africa.

_But even so...no one’s going to take her seriously. What if she is telling the truth, and not exaggerating?_

But the chance seems too remote, the she just forgets about it, and goes back to marking her Maths tests.

_-and he records his sales every month. Last month, he sold fifteen tubas, forty trumpets..._

Two days later, Samantha is sitting in the staffroom, drinking a cup of non-replicated coffee. The Principal enters, and begins to prepare a cup of tea.

There is a knock on the staffroom door. Martha stands and opens it.

Whoever is at the door is slightly out of Samantha’s line of sight. She cranes her neck, trying to catch a glimpse, but before she does, Martha addresses the Principal.

‘Mr Marshall? She’s here to see you.’

As Martha walks past her, Samantha shoots her an enquiring look.

Martha mouths a name back at her.

_Uhura._

_Oh. She must be here to follow up her complaint._

Samantha takes a sip of her coffee. She knows she should probably follow Martha’s lead and give them some privacy, but she can’t help the feeling of curiosity within her.

As discreetly as possible, she sips her coffee quietly in the corner, listening in on their conversation.

‘Mr Marshall, I’d like to follow up the complaint against-‘

‘Uhura, I’m fully aware of the complaint. Please, do not waste my time and the school’s resources on trivial matters such as that. If you do this again-‘

‘Sir, I think you’re dismissing it too lightly. I included adequate proof, and it is in line with the school Code of Conduct to make complaints for sexual harassment-‘

‘Just because he’s annoying you doesn’t mean that you can-‘

‘Sir, have you read my complaint?’

Samantha knows he probably didn’t. As school principal, particularly of a school that never has student complaints, he wouldn’t bother. Not strictly policy, but education is too much paperwork nowadays, and not enough teaching. Everyone skips procedures.

‘Yes. Of course I have, Uhura. We take the welfare of our students very seriously-‘

‘Then would you care to name the student I made the complaint against?’

He is flustered. He obviously doesn’t know.

‘Uhura, I do not believe this is relevant-‘

‘You haven’t read my complaint, sir.’

‘Yes, I have!’

‘No, you have not!’

‘Do not speak to your teachers in that way, Uhura!’

Samantha cannot take any more. She hasn’t read the report, she hasn’t seen any proof, she doesn’t know the Uhura girl at all, but no one, absolutely no one, deserves to have their complaint completely dismissed, without it even being read.

She’s only dimly aware of who Mr Marshall is, of where she is, as she puts down her coffee and rises from her seat. She strides over to the door. She doesn’t even recognise her own voice when she speaks.

‘With all due respect, sir, you cannot dismiss the student’s complaint like this. No matter how ridiculous it sounds, you should read the complaint and investigate it. It would be unfair to do otherwise.’

His face goes bright red, swollen with anger.

‘Ms Daw, this doesn’t concern you!’

Uhura is now just a silent witness.

‘On the contrary, this concerns school policy, and as a teacher of this school, it concerns me!’

The Principal looks from the Maths teacher to the student and back again, before storming out.

There is a moment of silence, the calm after the storm.

Uhura nods at Samantha, eyes serious.

‘Thank you, Ms Daw.’

‘No problem. I only did what’s right. We don’t all share the Principal’s views.’

The girl nods acknowledgement and leaves.

It’s only then that Samantha notices Martha, who had stumbled upon the end of the conversation. Her fellow teacher’s face is stricken with worry.

‘Sam, have you got any idea what you’ve done?’

She, a junior teacher, has just gone against the Principal.

‘Martha-‘

‘You’re going to lose your job! I-‘

‘Martha, I only did the right thing. He can’t fire me.’

‘He’ll hate you.’

‘I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.’


	13. Nyota Uhura

Nyota Uhura sang with joy as she unpacked her bags, neatly sorting her belongings into drawers. She was at Starfleet Academy. Starfleet Academy! For as long as she can remember, this is where she wanted to go. For as long as she can remember, she’s wanted to become a xenolinguist, a communications officer; the best there’s ever been, in Starfleet. The Academy is the first step towards that.

She looks around the predominantly red room, wondering who her roommate would be. Growing up, she’d shared a room with her sister Penda for several years, so the idea of sharing wasn’t foreign to her.

_I’m sure there won’t be any issues. I’m prepared._

But nothing could prepare her for her new roommate.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, there is a swish at the door, and green-skinned girl, an Orion, enters. She’s grinning.

‘Hi, I’m Gaila.’

‘Nyota Uhura.’

‘Nice to meet you.’

Gaila begins to unpack, but as she opens her suitcase, a huge jumble of clothing practically explodes out, and lands on the floor.

Both young women glance from the suitcase to each other, and burst out laughing.

_This is the beginning of a friendship._

* * *

‘Gaila, what’s that?’

Nyota’s friend shakes out her hair.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ny.’

The other woman shakes her head.

‘You know what I’m talking about, Gaila. That mark on your neck, the scar.’

Gaila looks indifferent.

‘Then you don’t need to ask what it is, then.’

Nyota won’t back down. She’s got to know. She has a feeling that Gaila’s not telling her something. Unbeknownst to her Orion roommate, Nyota knows she talks in her sleep, and she’s heard what she says. There’s more to Gaila’s past than what she’s been told, and she’s going to find out what it is.

‘Gaila, you’ve been muttering in your sleep, in Orion. Does that have anything to do with the scar?’

Her roommate looks downwards, avoiding her gaze.

‘Nyota, you speak Orion, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you already know, don’t you? You understand what I’ve been saying.’

She nods.

_I can’t pretend otherwise._

‘Yes, I do. _No. Please. Help me. Stop. I don’t want to.’_

Gaila turns to her, and there are tears in her eyes. But Nyota still looks at her, gaze unwavering, demanding to know. It seems cruel, she knows, but it will never do Gaila any good to keep such pain inside of her.

_If I know the whole story, I can help her._

‘Gaila, I want you to tell me.’

‘Ny-‘

‘Tell me, Gaila. You can trust me. I want to help you.’

The Orion takes a deep shuddering breath, and begins to speak, softly, sadly, not the slightest bit like the ordinary Gaila.

She tells her Terran roommate about how she was a slave of the Syndicate, of what they tried to make her do, what they forced her to do.

By now, both women are crying.

‘I’m sorry, Gaila. I’m sorry for everything that happened, I’m sorry for making you tell me, I shouldn’t have-‘

But the green-skinned girl shakes her head.

‘Don’t worry, Ny. I guess it’s for my own good that I tell someone. People would have found out eventually anyway. I’d rather choose someone to tell it to, and I would choose you every time.’

Nyota hears of how the Syndicate ship she was imprisoned on was captured by Starfleet, and of how she was freed, and eventually, with her engineering and programming talents, ended up at the Academy.

By the end of the tale, Nyota is clutching her friend tightly, stroking her hair, drying her tears.

‘Thank you, Nyota.’

* * *

Nyota Uhura’s mind was buzzing as she entered the room she shared with Gaila. She’d just picked up a long-range sensor transmission, an emergency one, from a Klingon prison planet.

When she came into the sleeping area, she found her roommate lounging on her bed in her lingerie.

_Strange. I did make her promise that she wouldn’t bring any more men to our room._

‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’

Unusually succinct for the Orion.

 ‘How are you?’

‘Good. The strangest thing...I was in the long-range sensor lab...’

‘Yeah... I thought all night.’

_Something’s definitely amiss. She tends to take advantage of the fact that I’m often in the long-range sensor lab all night long...._

‘I was tracking solar systems, and I picked up an emergency transmission.’

‘Really?’

_She isn’t normally so interested in my work. She’s hiding something. But what?_

 She concentrates on the sounds in the room, trying to isolate an anomaly, something that isn’t usually heard. But she keeps her expression the same as she undresses

_No use giving the game away._

‘Yeah, from a Klingon prison planet.’

‘No?’

She thinks she can hear something. A noise, a faint one...one that she’s heard before, but she’s not quite sure what it is.

‘Yeah, a Klingon armada was destroyed. Forty-seven ships.’

‘So, you’re not going back to the lab tonight?’

_Got it!_

The sound of someone breathing. Specifically, breathing through their mouth.  It’s emanating from below Gaila’s bed. Almost inaudible, but she, with her trained linguist’s ear, just catches it. Knowing Gaila, she would bet her last dollar on the being’s gender.

She turns to her roommate.

‘Gaila, who is he?’

 ‘Who’s who?’

‘The mouth breather hiding under your bed.’

She addresses the last comment to the bed, and soon enough, Jim Kirk emerges.

_Not Kirk. Not him. He’s exactly the type I have to protect her from._

‘You could hear me breathing?’

‘You!’

_And to think that she was half-undressed in front of him._

He flashes that cocky grin of his.

‘Big day tomorrow.’

She pushes him out of the sleeping area, towards the door.

‘You’re gonna fail.’

He ignores her.

‘Gaila, see you around.’

_Not if I have anything to do with it..._

‘Get out.’

‘If I pass, will you tell me your first name?’

‘No. Goodnight.’

‘I think the fact that you picked up a transmission was very interesting...’

She slams the door in his face.

Gaila pouts at her.

_You might not like it now, but maybe someday, you’ll thank me. I’ve got your best interests at heart, girl. With your biology and past, you’re much too easy to take advantage of, and as your friend, it’s my duty to protect you from men who will use you. Men like Jim Kirk._

_It’s for your own good._

_I’m sorry, but it’s my duty._


	14. Jonathan Burbank

Jonathan Burbank never forgot that divorce case. Case number 201000101444. L. McCoy vs. J. McCoy.  He’d been a green, newbie lawyer then, twenty-four years old, fresh out of law school. This was his first divorce case, and it was definitely trial and initiation by fire.

His client was one Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, who was the subject of divorce papers filed by his soon-to-be ex-wife. It was a bitter divorce, and the case dragged on for weeks in court.

There was the matter of how the couple’s property was to be divided, who was the injured party, and most importantly, the custody arrangements for their young daughter.

It was all a new experience, and a lot of work for the young lawyer. It didn’t help that his client was relatively un-cooperative in Jonathan’s attempts to win him the best deal possible. He was alleging that his client was the injured party, as his wife had cheated on him with another man. Yet the attorney for the wife argued that the wife was the injured party, as it was her husband’s detachment and alcohol problem that led to their divorce. Consequently, he argued that these issues were in fact caused by her long term affair.

It was all a big mess. It was serious. His client stood to lose everything. Absolutely everything, all of his belongings except his clothing, toothbrush, razor and the like.

Yet the man showed up to Court day after day in the same clothes as the day before, unshaven, untidy and reeking of alcohol, hung-over and out of it. This did not help his case. Jonathan was hired to get the best deal for his client, yet his own client was not helping in the slightest.

He was trapped. His hands were tied. He could not argue with his own client. He had, many times, politely requested his client not drink that night, but each and every time Dr McCoy had gone and drunk, and shown up hung-over.

He was on his wit’s end. He could not, definitely could not, win anything in this case without his client’s co-operation! He was not putting up a favourable impression to the judge, who was, he was certain, already leaning towards the wife’s side.

It was only at the end of the case, when all property had been decided, that Dr McCoy showed up neatly dressed, clean-shaven and without a scent of alcohol. Jonathan had to work hard to disguise his surprise.

_Why? Why today of all days? After he’s lost everything!_

Then he remembers. Today is the day that custody of the former couple’s daughter will be decided. From what little information he has been able to glean from his client, he cares deeply for his daughter. That must explain for his change in attitude.

Jonathan does find it difficult to understand, though.

_Why simply show up presentable on one day? I know it’s the most important day for him, but why just that one day? Why not every other day? From a legal, heck, from a logical, common-sense standpoint, he would give himself a better chance._

_Perhaps...perhaps the man is an alcoholic, flawed, just like his ex-wife says. Perhaps he couldn’t help it, perhaps he had to go drown his sorrows...and perhaps he cared enough about his daughter to stop for just that one night, so he could see her, at least sometimes. Perhaps she gave him the strength._

That doesn’t give him any more understanding. Although, as he has no wife, no children, no significant other, that’s completely understandable.

Back to the case at hand. Court is in session.

His client catches his eye as the other attorney presents their case.

_Please. This means more to me than anything. Help me keep my baby girl._

He looks away.

The other attorney continues.

She’s arguing that her client should receive full custody. That’s unsurprising. She argues that his client is obviously a flawed alcoholic, with too many personal issues to be a capable carer for a child. She argues that he does not care for the child, that a mother is a better carer for a daughter, particularly at this age. She argues that the daughter is closer to her than her oft-absent father.

It’s a good argument. He objects, he rebuts, he tries his best. But he can see the judge is not swayed. Things do not bode well.

Court adjourns for a lunch break. Jonathan hurries to speak to his client.

‘Dr McCoy-‘

‘Kid, I know what you’re about to say. You’re gonna say I should give up, that I can’t win. But to hell with logical arguments, I can’t let her take my baby girl, my Joanna. I’ll pay you extra, just fight this case out. Get my girl back.’

‘I wasn’t going to suggest giving up, Dr McCoy. I was just about to ask your thoughts on proposing joint custody.’

The older man turns away from him.

‘I don’t wanna give her the chance to turn her against me.’

‘She’ll have more chances if she gets full custody.’

Dr McCoy turns away again, frustrated, annoyed at the flaw in his logic being pointed out.

After what seems like a very long pause, during which Jonathan wonders if he’s just lost his job, the doctor turns back ‘round to face him.

‘I’m going double or nothing, kid. I want full custody. Nothing more, nothing less.’

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.

The case takes days. He and the wife’s attorney spend days fighting it out. He tries his best, but he’s young and green, new to the business. Dr McCoy’s behaviour in the earlier parts of the case don’t help either.

Finally, a verdict is reached.

He’s lost.

Jocelyn McCoy, now Jocelyn Darnell, receives custody of their daughter, Joanna. Full custody, with some visitation rights for Dr McCoy.

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say to Dr McCoy. He just turns and looks at the man, whose eyes are full of unshed tears.

_I’m sorry._

That evening, he sits in a bar with the doctor, both men indulging in a mint julep.

Dr McCoy senses the young lawyer’s melancholy.

‘It’s okay, kid. Thanks for trying.’

He nods, everything just sinking in. Dr McCoy stands to leave.

‘Where are you going, doctor?’

The older man just shakes his head and shrugs.

_He doesn’t know. But he just has to get out of here._

‘Goodbye, Jonathan. Thank you. I won’t forget.’

‘Goodbye, Dr McCoy. Good luck.’

Almost four years later, Jonathan still hasn’t forgotten that case.

He’s always wondered what happened to Dr McCoy. Now, watching the holo-news, he knows.

_Things turned out good for him. He hasn’t quite got his happy ending, though. I hope he sees his daughter again soon._

_After all, now I know how valuable she is to him._

He smiles as he sits on the edge of his wife’s hospital bed, cradling their newborn baby daughter.


	15. David McCoy

David McCoy smiles to himself as he tucks into a hearty serving of the famous McCoy baked beans. He is a relatively happy man, healthy, with a wonderful wife and son. What more can anyone ask for?

Although, he, like every other human, and probably every other being in the universe, always wants more.

He’s a farmer in Georgia, and like many other farmers, things aren’t looking so cheery. The advent of replicators has put a dent in business. There’s still demand, but the demand is lower, and is likely to fall even more as the technology improves.

Making things even worse for him, he’s still farming the same plot of land that his father farmed, and his grandfather before him, and so on and so forth. It’s a farm that’s been in the McCoy family for years. It is a relatively small farm, a family business. Nothing like those massive commercial farms cared for by robots, owned by intergalactic corporations.

He cannot compete. The prices that those farms sell their crops for are ridiculously low. He can’t match it, and as such sells very little. As such, he cannot buy the latest farming machinery, the technology that would make his life so much easier.

He’s barely scraping a living together.

But then, he wasn’t born to have an easy life. No one ever was.

He’s happy enough, with Eleanora and their son Leonard. That’s all one really needs.

So he never really thought about the money, until this fateful breakfast.

As he finishes his baked beans and sips his coffee, his son Leonard slips into his seat at the table, carrying his own bowl of baked beans.

The boy is fourteen now, beginning to form his views on the world, develop his dreams. And today, he is about to share the latter with his father.

‘Dad, I want to be a doctor.’

His first reaction is pride that his son has chosen such a profession. What parent wouldn’t be proud? Leonard is a bright boy, a top student as his school. He has the capabilities, so why shouldn’t he dream?

It is the uncertainty, the slight shame, in his son’s eyes that brings him back to Earth.

Even at fourteen, the boy knows they can’t afford it.

* * *

Leonard knows how much his father has sacrificed already to support their family. He works long, long days, particularly during the harvest, to save the money that would be required to hire extra labourers.  They, as a family, are frugal, rarely dining out or buying expensive items.

Even with this, there is no way he will ever go to medical school. It’s too expensive. They cannot afford the fees, and his father needs him to help on the farm.

But David is determined to see that his son will achieve his dream, the same dream he once had, but the dream that no matter his father’s hard work, could not be achieved.

Things are different this time.

He will make sure that things will be different this time.

He gets another job, travelling into town every day and working any odd jobs he can find, doing the things no one else wants to do. Cleaning, night shifts, fixing goodness knows what.

And he continues to do his ‘day job’ as a farmer.

Leonard watches his father with amazement, at how hard he can work, how dedicated and self-sacrificing he is. His father becomes his hero.

Leonard works harder at school, striving for excellence, to make sure that his father’s sacrifices will not be in vain.

They are not. Leonard gains admittance into Pre-Med.

But the fees are still out of reach. His father has saved almost enough, through his hard work and sacrifice, but it is not enough.

So David sells all of his farming machinery.

Every last piece.

Now, his son can go to medical school.

Leonard tries to talk him out of it. He really does, and David can see why. Without the little machinery he had, he will not be able to be even somewhat competitive in the market. He will not make any money off the land. He has, in Leonard’s eyes, just sold off his entire livelihood.

But he still has the land. He will not give up. He will do anything to make sure his son achieves his dream.

It turns out that Lady Luck rewards sacrifices.

Somehow, reverting back to traditional, non-mechanised farming makes David’s farm a novelty, and he garners money from a niche market, enough to support himself and his wife, even earning more than he did in the past.

Things are looking up.

* * *

Leonard falls in love, and with the blink of an eye, he is engaged. Jocelyn Darnell seems a nice girl. His grades have ensured his admittance to a medical degree, and it seems that all that sacrifice will pay off.

It is 2249, just a couple months after the wedding, when Leonard returns home and makes David a large bowl of baked beans.

His son sits down with him, and they share the beans.

‘Dad, I’m sorry.’

He seems ashamed, scared, worried.

_Just like all those years ago._

‘Jocelyn’s pregnant.’

His first reaction is pride. He’s going to be a grandfather. Why is Leonard apologising?

‘I’m so sorry, Dad, I really am.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t think I can finish med now, not with a family to provide for. I’m sorry. You gave a lot-‘

David’s reply is to reach into his wallet and draw out a credit chip. A credit chip with all of the savings that he has made, with the extra income of the last few years.

‘I can’t take this, Dad, I really can’t. I don’t deserve it.’

‘To hell you don’t! Take it. I ain’t got anything to do with it.’

* * *

His granddaughter is beautiful. She really is. Little Joanna grows up fast; his son graduates medical school, and becomes a doctor.

Things are looking up again.

Leonard comes home, all alone, without his wife and daughter, and presses a credit chip into his hand.

‘Thanks, Dad.’

* * *

But whoever controls fate, if there is anyone who does so, is fickle. Everything goes downhill, and badly, incredibly quickly.

He’d noticed that his son’s wife had been absent from visits to the family home. He’d thought nothing of it, but apparently it was something.

He’d noticed that his son drank a lot, and was a relatively melancholy, grumpy, gruff and brusque person. But that was a part of Leonard, something that he’d always had in him.

But he didn’t realize how often his son was like that, how bad it had become.

Suddenly, David realizes abruptly how little of his son’s life he knows. Does he even know who he is anymore?

Leonard McCoy, M.D, is soon divorced, having lost absolutely everything. He hears that his son is an alcoholic, a flawed and broken man.

For once, Leonard doesn’t come home.

* * *

David doesn’t hear from his son for almost four years. Eleanora can barely stand it. He knows why, though. He is ashamed. He needs time. Leonard will do something with himself, make something of himself, he knows it.

He is patient, and it pays off.

Almost four years later, his son is on the holo-news, in Starfleet, and a Federation hero.

He knew it.

Not long after, Leonard comes home.

‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so, so sorry. I-‘

David simply offers his son a bowl of baked beans and interrupts him.

‘It’s okay, son. You found your way. It’s my job to help you, and I think I did a pretty good job, if I say so myself. Don’t feel like you owe me. You’re my son. You never will.’


	16. Joanna McCoy

Joanna McCoy snuggled into her blankets as her Mommy tucked her in. Normally, she wouldn’t be in bed right now, instead, she’d be running around the house, but her Mommy had said that she had to go somewhere that evening, and if she wanted to be tucked in, she would have to go to bed at her bedtime.

As much as she liked to stay up and as much as she said she didn’t need to be tucked in anymore, because she was four and ten months, a big girl, Joanna decided to go to bed at her bedtime for once.

Her Mommy said goodnight and kissed her on the forehead, before turning on her nightlight, turning off the lights and closing the door behind her.

Joanna closed her eyes and tried to get to sleep. But it was too early for sleeping, and she wasn’t tired.

She wondered if she should go downstairs, because her Daddy was still home, and ask him to read her a bedtime story, or just curl up with him on the couch and watch a holo-vid until her Mommy got home or until she fell asleep.

But she had promised her Mommy that she would stay in bed, be a good girl and go to sleep, because Daddy was a very busy man and needed to rest after a long day of work. But even so, he always tried to spend time with her, usually on the weekends. They would go do things together, without her Mommy, just the two of them.

Joanna loved her Daddy. She thought he was the best Daddy in the whole universe.

Her Daddy was a doctor, a very good doctor, and he was always at work. A lot of the time, he didn’t come home until after Joanna’s bedtime, because he was working.

At least, that’s what her Mommy said.

But sometimes, when Joanna had been tucked in, but couldn’t sleep, she would look out the window, and she would see her Daddy coming home, looking like he was sick and not being able to walk properly.

When she asked her Daddy what was wrong and why he was sick, he would say that that was what happened when you drank the special juice’ that only grown-ups were allowed to drink, and not to drink it because she wasn’t old enough yet.

When she asked him why he drank it if it made him sick, he would just go quiet for a moment, then change the subject.

So she would ask her Mommy about it.

Her Mommy had not said anything and just looked cross. She would just leave the room, and leave Joanna sitting there.

Joanna would then hear her Mommy shouting at her Daddy, and then they would start fighting. This made her scared, and sad, so she would go sit upstairs with her Teddy and wait for it to be all over.

Mommy would then come find her, and hug her, and say sorry for scaring her. Mommy would always tell Joanna not to listen to her Daddy, because he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Joanna thinks that her Mommy and Daddy don’t like each other very much. They never smile when they’re together. Not like Mommies and Daddies from holo-vids or in books.

Whenever she asks, though, they always say that they love her very much, and that they are a family, no matter what.

She thinks that her Mommy and Daddy think she’s a little girl, even though she says she’s a big girl now, and that they don’t think she notices all their fights and frowns.

She still can’t sleep. She can hear Daddy moving around downstairs. Joanna feels lonely, all alone in her bedroom, with only Teddy for company.

Teddy is a good friend, but she loves Mommy and Daddy more.

So she goes downstairs, with Teddy in hand, to ask Daddy to read her a story.

When she gets down to the kitchen, her Daddy has a bottle of grown-ups’ juice in his hand. He looks sick. He’s also crying.

Joanna is shocked. Her Daddy never cries.

Never ever.

Something must be really wrong. Maybe it’s the juice. Mommy said that it makes people do strange things.

She tugs on his sleeve. If she reaches up, she can just reach the edge.

‘Daddy, is something wrong?’

He only just notices her. She was very quiet, as quiet as a mouse.

‘Daddy, did something happen to Mommy? Is she alright?’

Her Daddy looks down at her and reaches out to ruffle her hair.

‘No, Jo, nothing happened to your Mother. She’s just gone to visit a friend.’

‘Then what’s wrong, Daddy?’

He sits down on the floor so he can look her in the eye.

‘Nothing’s wrong, Jo.’

She crosses her arms stubbornly.

‘They why are you crying?’

He looks down.

‘I’m sad, Jo.’

Joanna decides that it must be the juice that’s making her Daddy sad and making him cry. Her Daddy _never_ cries.

She puts on her best grown-up voice.

‘Daddy, you have to stop drinking your special juice. It’s making you sad, and I don’t like it when you’re sad.’

Somehow, this makes her Daddy cry even more. But he puts away the bottle of juice and picks her up.

She hugs him.

‘Thanks, Jo.’

_Thanks for what?_

‘Daddy, can you read me a bedtime story? I can’t sleep.’

‘Neither can I, Jo. But maybe a bedtime story will help.’

He carries her and Teddy up the stairs and reads her favourite book.

By halfway through, Joanna is fast asleep.

Leonard McCoy smiles and goes to bed himself.


	17. Leonard McCoy

Leonard McCoy is nearly falling asleep over his notes.

It’s 3 am, and here he is, still studying for his Xenobiology exams tomorrow.

_And I thought that I would never study again after medical school. Damn, isn’t the way your life plays out completely unexpected?_

There is a loud swish and the door to his room opens.

Jim Kirk staggers in, drunk, with a black eye and clutching his ribs.

_Yes, most certainly, it’s a crazy rollercoaster. How did I end up with a cocky kid who gets the shit beat out of him every night as a roommate?_

He sighs, and helps Jim to sit down on his bed. Just like practically every night for the last year or so.

‘Who was it this time?’

He’s not quite sure whether he was referring to the girl he hit on or the guy who beat him up.

That’s always the situation with Jim Kirk. Damn him and his no no-win situations mentality!

Jim mutters a couple of names. Leonard doesn’t quite catch it. His roommate is totally out of it.

Instead of responding, Leonard just rolls his eyes and reaches for his medical kit, pulling out a couple of hypos, a dermal regenerator and a tricorder.

He scans his best friend.

_High levels of alcohol in the bloodstream, minor concussion, bruising, four broken ribs._

‘Damn it, Jim, you’ve got to be more careful! I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker! Someday, you’re going to get yourself killed, and I won’t be able to help you!’

Jim just moans incoherently.

It’s a wonder he managed to get back to their dorm room.

Leonard repairs the broken ribs with a bone-knitting laser, fixes up the bruising and doses Jim with a few hypos to sober him up and counter the hangover, as well as a hypo to put him to sleep.

‘You’ve got to get your rest, kid. Exam period’s coming up, and genius or not, you can’t do ‘em asleep.’

* * *

In their time at Starfleet Academy, Leonard McCoy grew to know his roommate Jim Kirk quite well.

But you do not have to know him well; in fact, you really don’t have to know him at all, to know that James Tiberius Kirk is a womanizer, skirt-chaser and playboy extraordinaire.

He has short, quick, whirlwind relationships; at least, those are the good ones, the ones that last, and more often than not, one-night stands.

Although Jim thinks otherwise, this is not a lifestyle without consequences. In fact, it’s downright risky.

There are all the diseases he could catch, or there could even be an unplanned pregnancy.

He knows from personal experience that those aren’t good.

He’s a doctor, and he sees death and disease first hand. He knows all the risks, and all the symptoms and all the consequences.

He also knows the strain that an unplanned pregnancy can have on a relationship. Just because he loves Joanna, doesn’t mean that Jocelyn’s pregnancy didn’t drive a nail into the coffin of their relationship.

He’s still trying to pay child support, even though he’s a student. Thank God Starfleet lets him work at their Academy Hospital for pay.

He doesn’t want his best friend to have to do that. The kid’s got enough troubles already.

He knows he can’t stop this lifestyle, he really can’t. Jim’s young, immature, not ready, not able, to understand. Leonard himself doesn’t want to raise those thoughts from the abyss of his mind.

They’re too painful.

For both of them.

So he engages in more subtle methods.

Such as setting a rule that Jim is not allowed to bring girls back to the room.

It sort of works.

Jim doesn’t really believe in rules either.

He expresses his displeasure at being frequently kicked out of his room.

Jim notes his displeasure, but it is usually ignored.

His most effective tactic is the monthly contraceptive hypo.

Jim doesn’t like it, but there’s very little he can do about it.

Leonard McCoy is determined. Jim is not going to get some Cadet pregnant.

When Jim whines about the hypos hurting, he just fires off a variation of his catchphrase.

‘Damn it, Jim! When you’re in Court over child support, don’t look to me! I’m a doctor, not a lawyer!’

‘Damn it, Jim! I can’t save you from angry pregnant women! I’m a doctor, not a superhero!’

‘Damn it, Jim, when your many progeny want to meet Santa, you’re putting the suit on yourself! I’m a doctor, not Santa Claus!’

He hopes Jim learns the lessons.

Because there must be a reason why he went through all he did. Someone must learn from it.

* * *

He’s hailed as a hero after the Narada.

Leonard just insists that his best friend and the pointy-eared hobgoblin deserve the credit, not him.

‘Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a hero!’


	18. Keenser

Keenser swore softly to himself in his native tongue as he climbed down from the top bunk of the set of bunk beds in his quarters.

He was the only Starfleet officer assigned to this post on Delta Vega. He was also living off protein nibs.

This was not what he signed up for.

He was the first of his kind to serve in Starfleet. His entire family, the entire planet, had been so proud of him.

For someone of his species, rather painfully shy and new to the Federation, this was an act of bravery. To leave behind the trees of their home, and live on the shiny, metal, tree-less starships was a choice that few could comprehend.

But it was a big first for them, and things like that are to be celebrated.

So he had actually expected to serve on a starship. No big deal, really. It’s called _Starfleet_ for a reason.

But upon graduating from the Academy, he had been sent to this tiny outpost in the middle of nowhere. Worse still, it was a cold ice planet and there were no trees.

He’d been here for six months already, with no company. And no trees.

He missed trees. He missed being able to climb on them. It reminded him of home. Here, he had to make do with what he could find.

The top bunk, the top of the control panel, any relatively high place he could find.

He’d settled into a boring routine, one that hadn’t been broken for six months.

But it seemed that today was the day it would be.

He had a transmission from Starfleet.

He hoped it was news that he was being relieved.

No such luck.

Instead, he was getting a companion on this planet. Apparently, Starfleet had decided that this post would be staffed by two officers from now on.

Whoever did so was an idiot.

There was absolutely nothing to do here.

He took note of the name of the Admiral who ordered this. Admiral Archer. He would remember that name.

He read the name of the new officer.

Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott. Human.

It would be nice to have some company.

Hopefully he wasn’t that talkative.

His physiology made it difficult to enunciate Standard.

* * *

Unfortunately, Montgomery Scott turned out to be exactly what Keenser didn’t want.

He was very, very talkative.

This made things very, very difficult.

Keenser took to carrying a PADD around to communicate with him by writing out the words. It was slow and cumbersome, but there weren’t really any other options.

He worried that they would not get along.

If they didn’t, it would make for months of hell on this ice planet.

Montgomery Scott also got rather annoyed if Keenser climbed up on various objects.

Keenser didn’t really understand why. He couldn’t help it.

Humans were strange.

* * *

However, after a few days, it was clear that they were perhaps not as different as he first thought.

Montgomery Scott didn’t seem to mind that Keenser didn’t talk much.

In fact, he spent most of his time ranting, either sadly or angrily, about one Admiral Archer.

That was another thing they had in common.

A hatred of Admiral Archer.

So Keenser just sat there, as there was nothing else to do, and listened to the human rant on and on about the Admiral.

He gathered that Scott had tested a beaming theory on the Admiral’s favourite beagle, and had lost it, and was banished indefinitely to this planet as a punishment.

Privately, Keenser couldn’t really think of a better punishment that was actually legal by Federation laws.

In fact, his rants about his beaming theories led to the discovery of another common interest: engineering.

Time passed much faster after that.

Friends are important when you’re one of two beings stationed on Delta Vega.

Somewhere between arguing rather one-sidedly for Keenser to get down, Scotty’s rants, and complaining over protein nibs, they became friends.

Keenser would never know how important this friendship was for Montgomery Scott.

Scotty never gave him any hints.

In fact, Scotty hadn’t listened to him when that shifty trader guy called Cyrano Jones had showed up.

He did warn him that buying the small fuzzy thing was a bad idea.


	19. Lillian Kernighan

Ensign Lillian Kernighan, Computers specialist, had been hard at work all day long, and she was utterly exhausted.

Starfleet was glamorous and all, about exploration and peacekeeping around the galaxy, but there was precious little recognition for underlings like her.

Here she was, at Starfleet’s HQ in San Francisco, providing tech support to Starfleet Command.

With the sheer amount of technology and computers around, it was no wonder that there was literally a small army of tech support officers running around.

Sometimes, she was sent over to the Academy, from where she had graduated only two years prior, to help out there.

It was pretty amazing how technologically incompetent people could be. Especially some of the more senior Admirals, the ones with a few more years under their belts.

Even some of the fresh young Cadets could screw up admirably with Starfleet computers. Sometimes, some wannabe computer hacker would take down the entire network, and she and her colleagues would have to mop up the mess.

She pitied any Cadet who found themselves in that situation. Admiral Barnett did not take kindly to losing the Academy’s entire network.

Her last job for the day was in Admiral Archer’s office, so she headed over, eager to finish up and go home.

_It’s been a long day._

* * *

In her rather limited interactions with the Admiral, she had found Archer to be a relatively agreeable man, who was incredibly fond of his beagle, Porthos, to a degree that was somewhat disturbing.

She really had to persuade the man to change his password, because it would be extraordinarily easy to hack into his account.

But the view of the Tech Support team was that the Admiral was nice enough, and he always tried to make conversation with them when he had the time.

So it wasn’t really with any hesitation that she knocked on the door of his office.

‘For the last time, Scott, go away!’

Well, that was strange.

‘Admiral Archer? It’s Ensign Kernighan from Tech Support. I’m re-‘

The door opens, with the Admiral, looking slightly flustered, on the other side.

‘I apologise, Ensign. I thought you were someone else...’

He starts muttering under his breath.

Lillian heads over to one of the wall panels, prises it open, and gets to work.

She’s finished in no time, and starts packing up her tools, ready to leave.

She looks around for Porthos, hoping for a pat before she goes. The dog is adorable.

‘Admiral, please don’t mind me asking, but where’s Porthos?’

Archer suddenly looks close to tears.

‘He’s gone. Gone. Gone!’

He looks hysterical, and collapses into his seat.

‘I’m sorry, Admiral. He was a great dog.’

The Admiral look manic.

‘It’s not you that should be apologising, Ensign, it’s Montgomery Scott! The idiot lost him, Kernighan, lost him! My Porthos is lost! All because that idiotic excuse for an Engineer borrowed him to test a beaming experiment!’

She knows Montgomery Scott. The man is a bit crazy, but he’s nice and occasionally helps out the Tech Support team if they need assistance.

He is, or rather was, given current events,  Admiral Archer’s protégé, a Lieutenant Commander with a very favourable posting, here on Earth near Starfleet HQ, doing research for Starfleet, as well as being Admiral Archer’s aide for one of his classes.

‘I’m sure he meant no harm, Admiral.’

‘I don’t care what he meant, Ensign. Porthos is gone. He lost him. It’s his fault. Spending the rest of his career in a cold, desolate, horrible outpost should teach him not to lose my dear Porthos ever again!’

The Admiral really does care a lot about his beagle.

Probably too much for his own good.

She understands that he’s upset, but really, sending Scott to a faraway, miserable outpost and effectively ending his career? That’s just too cruel.

In fact, it could be viewed as using his power to serve his own interests.

Starfleet will probably turn a blind eye.

The Admiral is very well respected.

But even so, it’s just too much.

‘Admiral, I really think that’s overdoing it a bit. You’re ending his career, and he was your protégé, and your aide. It’s much ado over Porthos, don’t you think? Knowing Mr Scott, he’ll get Porthos back-‘

‘He’s no protégé of mine! And it is not much ado! He lost Porthos!’

‘Admiral, calm down. Try and-‘

‘Get out! Just get out!’

She picks up her things and hurries out, before the Admiral loses his mind entirely.

* * *

That evening, she seeks out Montgomery Scott to console him. The poor man is pretty distraught, having just learnt his fate. That’s really quite understandable.

‘Don’t worry; I’m sure the Admiral will calm down eventually. You won’t be on Delta Vega forever, especially with your talent. I’m sure fate will intervene.’

He nods and takes a swig of scotch.

‘Thanks, lass.’

* * *

Lillian knows that her career is pretty much finished.

The Admiral will see that she is never promoted.

But being Tech Support at Starfleet HQ isn’t that bad. It could be much, much worse.

She doesn’t regret what she did, and that is reaffirmed six months later, when she receives a transmission from Montgomery Scott.

Apparently, fate’s name is James Tiberius Kirk.


	20. Finella McNeil

Finella McNeil, aged six, didn’t want to go to school today.

There wasn’t really any particular reason; she just didn’t want to go! If only her mother understood that she just wanted to stay home and play, not go to school and listen to Miss Robertson and practice her reading, writing and arithmetic.

But she lost that argument, and her mother did her pigtails for her, tied a navy blue ribbon in each (Finella hated pink), packed her lunch and sent her off to school.

Finella cheered up a bit when her mother reminded her it was Show and Tell today. Finella loved Show and Tell. She raced to her room and got her new Andorian doll, intent on showing it off to her classmates.

* * *

She sat through the morning’s Maths lesson without much enthusiasm.

Miss Robertson was nice, but the maths was easy and boring.

Instead of listening, she started designing a starship on her Maths worksheet, which she’d already finished before Miss Robertson had finished teaching.

* * *

Penmanship practice was alright.

It was dull and repetitive, but at least she could write her name out prettily.

Finella didn’t understand what the point of learning how to write was.

Computers could be commanded by voice. You could type things out on PADDs.

When she asked Miss Robertson, she’d said that sometimes writing on PADDs is faster than typing, and that writing is an important skill that had been taught in schools for a very long time, and that it wasn’t about to change anytime soon.

* * *

Finally, it was time for Show and Tell.

Finella hurried to her cubby and fetched her Andorian doll, with her blue skin and antennae.

‘Now, who wants to go first?’

A forest of hands, waving rapidly, sprung up, as did a chorus of voices.

‘Me! Me! Me!’

‘Please, Miss!’

‘I bought something really special!’

Miss Robertson smiled indulgently at her class and seeks out the new boy.

‘Montgomery, you may go first this week.’

The grinning boy bounces up from his seat to the front of the class, carrying a small bag.

He tips a pile of metal onto the table.

_What is that?_

Montgomery’s ears go pink at the tips.

‘Sorry, everyone, give me a moment. It got a bit tangled on the way to school, you see...’

He bends over the metal, pulling and tugging at parts.

It becomes vaguely recognisable as _something_.

‘...just have to...there, all done!’

Finella tilts her head to the side and leans forward, trying to work out what it is.

_I think it might be a robot of some sort...it looks like it has arms and legs._

Montgomery is grinning widely, bouncing up and down on his toes.

‘Montgomery, what is that?’

‘It’s a robot, Miss. I built it all by myself!’

A boy in the second row puts up his hand.

‘Does it do anything?’

Montgomery nods and presses a large, red button.

The robot stands up, takes three steps and promptly blows up.

Everyone starts coughing as smoke fills the classroom.

When the smoke clears, Miss Robertson is gingerly fishing bits of metal out of her hair.

Her desk is covered in small burn marks, and bits of the robot are everywhere.

Montgomery is bright red beneath all the ash.

He also has no eyebrows.

The boy in the second row notices first, and begins to guffaw.

The laughter is infectious, and soon spreads to all the children in the room, laughing and pointing at Montgomery.

All except Finella.

She doesn’t think it’s very nice to laugh at someone.

Her Mam says it’s fine to laugh with someone, but not at them.

Montgomery isn’t laughing.

In fact, he looks sad and embarrassed, picking up the bits of his robot.

‘Class, why don’t you all go outside and play for a bit? I have to clean up.’

‘Yes, Miss Robertson!’

In twos and threes, the children flood out of the classroom.

Finella waits just outside the door.

Montgomery trudges out slowly, still covered in ash, holding bits of metal.

Finella smiles her making-new-friends smile at him.

‘I think your robot was really good!’

He returns the smile half-heartedly.

‘It worked yesterday, you know! I mean, it could walk and everything. Sort of.’

She nods.

‘Well, it sort of worked today, didn’t it? It took three steps! I can’t build a robot.’

‘It’s easy! I can teach you! Then we can both become engineers!’

Finella nods empathetically, and sticks out her hand.

Her Mam said that was the polite way to introduce yourself. She hasn’t introduced herself properly to Montgomery yet, as he’s only been in the class for two weeks, so she decides to do it like a grown-up.

‘I’m Finella, Finella McNeil.’

He awkwardly shifts the bits of scrap metal to just one hand, and drops a few pieces in the process.

‘Montgomery Scott. My friends call me Monty.’


	21. Montgomery Scott

Montgomery Scott raised his glass of scotch in a toast.

‘To the Enterprise, the finest Silver Lady in the ‘Fleet, and dare I say it, the universe!’

Today is the day.

It’s been exactly ten years since they first served aboard this ship, ten years since the destruction of Vulcan and ten years since the Enterprise set out on its maiden voyage.

The day had been about commemoration.

Now, tonight was for celebration.

The Mess Hall had been decked out, as had many of the Rec Rooms.

Scotty was currently in Rec Room One, proposing a toast that was broadcast all over the ship; thanks to a system he and Chekov had rigged up a couple of days prior.

Many voices echoed his.

‘To the Enterprise!’

Claps and cheers break out, as the Crew gets the party going.

Even Dr McCoy, Dr ‘Space-is-dangerous’ McCoy, is smiling!

Although how much of that is due to the fact that it’s their tenth anniversary on the Enterprise, Scotty doesn’t know.

The good doctor’s second daughter was born just five days ago, and Leonard and Christine McCoy couldn’t be happier.

The birth was hardly auspicious, but it was typically Enterprise.

Several crewmembers had become stranded on a planet, which seemed to happen every other month, after a long chain of incidents all relating to bizarre accidents and coincidences.

They were supposed to be in negotiations to obtain some materials they needed to fix the Enterprise after a Klingon ambush.

As fate would have it, for some bizarre reason, the doctor’s heavily pregnant wife had been on that Away Team.

According to the Captain, he’d bought the expectant parents along because they were just supposed to be having dinner to celebrate the success of the negotiations, and he thought it would be good if they brought people who didn’t seem threatening....

Mr Spock did say that it was logically acceptable at the time, because no one foresaw the events. After all, they were supposed to be beaming down to a large city on a post-warp technology Federation planet.

Well, it was a very long story, and the long and the short of it was the new McCoy was born one and a half months premature in a cave on an alien planet.  

Scotty grins at the memory.

_How ironic!_

He looks around.

Perhaps he could have a wee test of manhood, a drinking contest, with Mr Chekov.

He always enjoys beating the Navigator.

He spots the Russian at a small table in the corner.

‘Hello, lad. Fancy a drink?’

Chekov shakes his head ruefully.

‘Sorry, Scotty. Not tonight.’

‘Why not, lad?’

‘Because I refuse to look after three beings, Mr Scott.’

He turns around, and spots the Russian’s wife, Ellen, carrying their daughter, son in tow.

He grins.

‘Fair enough, lass. You look like you’ve got your work cut out for you!’

Both young parents nod.

 ‘Tell me about it, Mr Scott. Oksana’s not sleeping through the night yet.’

Ellen passes their six-month-old daughter to her husband.

‘And I zought zat Wictor cried loudly. His sister ees ewen vorse. Wictor, say hello to Uncle Scotty.’

‘Hi, Uncle Scotty! Mom, can I go and get my Math to show Uncle Scotty? So that we can make that robot he promised we’d make? Please!’

Ellen glances at the clock on the wall.

‘Perhaps another day, Victor. It’s getting late. You have to go to bed, and so does Oksana. Excuse us, please, Mr Scott.’

‘Aww...but Mom!’

He leaves them to it.

_Children are so much work..._

* * *

Taking another swig of his scotch, the Engineer watches his younger crewmates, dancing to some awful noise, whatever the kids are listening to nowadays.

_I’m getting too old for this._

Leaving his empty glass, he slips unnoticed from the room.

He enters the nearest Turbolift.

Seconds later, he emerges on the Bridge.

Whatever poor souls rostered on duty would probably want some company.

Hikaru Sulu grins at him from the Helm.

‘Enjoying the party, Scotty? Or are you a little too long in the teeth for things like that now?’

‘Shut up, lad. I’m not that old! Just wanted a little more quiet, that’s all. The stuff you young ones listen to, it’s awful! They don’t make music like they used to.’

Lieutenant Hannity smiles.

‘I think that’s a matter of opinion, Mr Scott. I like it just fine.’

He shakes his head.

As he does, he notices a fourth person on the Bridge.

It’s Ensign Tyler from Engineering. Bright young lad, out of the Academy three years.

He’s just sitting there, staring at his console.

Sulu leans towards him.

‘He’s been like that all shift, Scotty. Don’t know why.’

‘Best find out. I’m not having one of my best moping, today being the day it is.’

He addresses Ensign Tyler.

‘Come down to Engineering with me, lad.’

‘Yes, sir.’

They head for the Turbolift.

‘Dinnae call me that, lad. We’re off duty. Scotty, please.’

‘Of course, Scotty.’

He remains morose.

They are silent all the way down to Engineering.

Scotty leads the youngster into his office, and they both take a seat.

‘What’s eating you, lad? You’re not celebrating like the rest of us.’

‘I haven’t been here all ten years, Scotty.’

‘So? A party’s a party. Alcohol and parties are always welcome.’

‘That’s what Clare would say-‘

He almost chokes, stopping himself. The tears start to form.

 ‘-she loved celebrations, really, she did. She would have loved today...’

Scotty searches his mind for the name.

_Do I know a Clare? Where have I heard the name before- ahh, yes. Of course._

Ensign Clare Beaufort, Science department.

Fatally injured five days ago in an alien monster attack in the middle of the jungle on a supposedly safe planet.

She’d been brought back to the ship, but despite the best efforts of the Medical staff, had passed away several hours after her return.

‘I’m sorry, lad. My condolences. Never got to know her, I’m afraid.’

Tyler wipes the tears from his nose.

‘Not many did, I’m afraid. She spent all her time holed up in Stellar Cartography. I only met her because-, no, I won’t bother you with the story.’

Scotty reaches under his desk for a bottle of scotch, opens it, and pours out two generous glasses, pressing one into the Ensign’s hands.

‘Drink. And tell me the story. You’ll feel better for it. Remember the good times, lad, not the bad.’

‘My first April Fool’s Day on the Enterprise, and I was sent up to Stellar Cartography to fix up the replicator, because it was going crazy, they said. So I go up there, and open up the replicator, and all of this green jell-o flies out! And Clare was just standing there, laughing at me, and well, you know what happened after that...’

‘She sounds like a wonderful lass.’

He nods.

‘She was. I loved her more than anything, and I miss her so much. I didn’t say goodbye the day she left...’

‘No one did, lad. We all thought they’d be back, that they’d be safe. It was a freak accident.’

‘I should be used to them now, working on this ship. We get them every other day. Clare had the most peculiar theory about that...’

They pass the bottle of scotch back and forth, sharing stories, laughing, crying, remembering.

Unconventional, but it seems to help Ensign Tyler.

Finally, when the bottle of scotch is near-empty, Scotty stands and pats the Ensign on the back.

‘I’m sorry for your loss, lad. She was a great lass. Mourn, but don’t dwell on it. She wouldn’t have wanted you to. Sometimes, if you love someone, you’ve got to let them go.’

The younger man drains his scotch.

‘Thank you, Scotty, for everything.’

‘It’s alright lad, it’s alright.’

He pours out the last of the scotch, and raises his glass.

‘To Clare.’

‘To Clare.’

_Clink._


	22. Amanda Grayson

Amanda Grayson smiled down at the bundle in her arms.

_Spock._

Her son. Her perfect, beautiful son, finally born after years of trying, years of genetic engineering and tests and so much work.

But it was worth it.

Sarek’s face was impassive, but she knew he too cared for and adored the child.

He didn’t show it, he might never, but she knew.

She stroked her baby’s pointed ears. He didn’t cry, already a perfect Vulcan child.

Yet she knew her son was half-human.

He had her eyes. Human eyes, as the birth attendants had pointed out. He would have other things too.

Amanda Grayson knew her Vulcan. She also knew her son.

* * *

Amanda Grayson smiles as her four-year-old son finishes his accurate and factually correct, free of hyperbole, account of how his day was.

They are in private.

Human displays of affection are allowed.

As she leans closer for her nightly hug, he stiffens slightly.

‘Mother, may I make a request?’

She nods and smiles at him, pulling away.

 ‘Of course, Spock.’

‘I would like to request that you discontinue your nightly habit of making physical contact with my person. I would like to emphasize that this is in no way intended to offend you, and does not reflect judgement on you. I simply would prefer to follow the teachings of my host culture.’

When Spock was small, Amanda Grayson would hug him daily, in the privacy of his bedroom.

Hugging was illogical.

She didn’t care.

He was her son, and she would continue this ritual, because she was human.

The fact remained that she wasn’t Vulcan, and so, logically, could not expect to be one all the time.

In public, she strove to be the perfect Vulcan woman, the perfect Vulcan wife, and perfect Vulcan mother.

Vulcans could be judgemental. In fact, they frequently were judgemental. In this way, they were much like humans.

She had married into their culture, so she should respect it.

But there are times when she had to allow her humanity to shine through.

Times like her daily hug.

Spock does not question it for the first four years of his life.

At that age, he is not yet quite aware of all the social connotations.

She knows he would react if she displayed affection in public, but in private she knows he has no objection.

She knows he secretly enjoys it and looks forward to it just as much as she does.

But finally, at four Terran years, Spock has begun to feel the pressure of his peers.

‘Spock, I am not offended. But I, logically, must refuse your request.’

‘Explain.’

‘I am a human. As such, I have a need to express emotion. It can be very damaging if I were to do otherwise. I would like to request that you allow me to continue our daily physical contact, in private, of course, for the sake of my mental and emotional wellbeing.’

She notices the tiniest, most invisible smile.

He has a loophole, and he seizes it.

‘Agreed. We shall continue our nightly physical contact for the sake of your wellbeing. That is most logical.’

She just smiles and hugs him.

_Vulcan, human, I don’t care. He’s my son._

* * *

Amanda Grayson entered her son’s sleeping quarters, as he now insisted on calling it.

Spock had just returned from school, and had entered without greeting her, an unusual occurrence for him.

He had then entered his room, instead of going to the kitchen for sustenance, as all growing Vulcans logically require extra nutrition.

‘Are you alright, Spock?’

A pause. A deep breath from him.

‘Alright has multiple definitions. I cannot answer the question.’

‘Spock, you know what I mean. Indulge your mother.’

Another pause.

‘Today, three individuals attempted for the sixth time to elicit an emotional response from me.’

_Poor Spock._

_Sarek warned me...young Vulcans in particular can be much more open and emotional about...their views._

_Their control is not yet complete._

_Yet they expect complete control from my son._

_Illogical._

She sits down on the bed beside him.

‘Did they succeed?’

Pause. She notices the tears in his eyes, a solitary drop running down his cheek.

‘Ultimately, yes. However, they did not succeed in their goal. They have elicited an emotional response, albeit a delayed response of which they have no knowledge.’

‘Don’t let them get to you, Spock. Be strong. Come here.’

She wraps her arms around him.

He lets her hug him for the first time since he was 5.73 Terran years.

Her own tears begin to flow.

‘I assure you, Mother, there is no need for you to become distressed. I am capable of preventing further emotional lapses. This will not happen again. My control has nearly returned.’

She nods.

_But I know it will happen again. And I will be there for him when it does._

* * *

Amanda Grayson smiled at her son before her, and straightened his collar.

He was taller than her.

Her little boy was all grown up.

‘Spock, there’s no need to be anxious. You’ll do fine.’

She could practically see the cogs turning in his head at the illogic of her statement.

‘I am hardly anxious, Mother, and fine has variable definitions. Fine is unacceptable.’

She smiled fondly, biting back a laugh.

_I could never have enough of his idiosyncrasies. Both him and his father. As much as they deny it, every Vulcan is as different as every human is._

‘Okay.’

She adjusts his collar again, but his hand catches hers.

She notices some uncertainty.

‘May I ask a personal query?’

‘Anything.’

‘Should I choose to complete the Vulcan discipline of Kolinahr, and purge all emotion? I trust you will not feel it reflects judgement upon you.’

‘Oh, Spock, as always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother.’

_He’s my son. Nothing will ever change that. I will always be there for him, and I will always be proud._

_Because he is my son._


	23. Richard Barnett

Admiral Richard Barnett smiled to himself as he strode through the Academy grounds.

_So many different species, different cultures, different talents, working together and learning together in harmony._

_How wonderful it is._

_I’m proud to be a part of this._

His attention was soon diverted by Admiral Archer, keen to show off Porthos in his latest dog coat.

_We are most certainly a diverse group, no qualms about it._

_Honestly, if the press saw what I saw, they wouldn’t harp on about Starfleet being human-dominated._

* * *

It was only days later, sitting in his office, trawling through PADDs of reports, when he has his first moments of doubt about his Academy’s interspecies harmony.

Sandwiched between a complaint about homework overload and skirts for uniforms, was an incident report filed by a concerned Academy Instructor.

Said Instructor had observed several incidents between various Cadets and a Cadet Spock of Vulcan.

Admiral Barnett remembered that Cadet.

Normally, that wasn’t a good thing.

This was an exception.

It had been a major coup for Starfleet Academy when the first Vulcan Cadet had decided to attend.

It had been a shock.

The Vulcan Science Academy was the choice for Vulcans, and it was bizarre to think that the son of the Vulcan Ambassador did not want to attend.

But you should never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He’d interpreted it as a good sign, that his Academy was growing in prestige and recognition, that Starfleet was becoming more and more diverse.

This report didn’t indicate that the first Vulcan Cadet was a detrimental thing, but it did indicate that much progress had yet to be made.

It was a report comprising a summary of several incidents of bullying and abuse directed at Cadet Spock.

The Cadet himself had never reported these incidents.

Admiral Barnett guessed that it was something to do with his Vulcan heritage.

He, unlike most others, knew that the Cadet’s mother, and therefore the Vulcan Ambassador’s wife, was human.

But there was not the slightest hint of his mother in the Cadet’s demeanour or appearance.

He was solely Vulcan, through and through.

But Admiral Barnett had worked with Vulcans, Andorians, Tellatrites, many, many different species throughout his career.

He knew that just because the Cadet didn’t complain, and according to the report, showed no sign of distress, didn’t mean he felt nothing at the taunts and teasing.

He was no expert on Vulcans, but there was no way they felt nothing at all.

All beings felt pain.

All beings disliked being made to feel different.

It was only natural.

He knew what he should do, what he had to do.

It was his duty.

As Head of the Academy Board, as a Starfleet Officer, as a human being, heck, as a being!

He read through every word of that report.

He summoned the Instructor to his office, gleaning every bit of information that he could.

He was a man on a mission. Nothing would stop him.

Not even when Admiral Nogura counselled him to drop it, warning that if any word of this got the media, havoc would occur.

His fellow Admiral had a point.

But he would not concede. Justice had to be brought down upon the perpetrators.

And it was.

The Cadets were punished, severely. Some left the Academy, it having been found that their temperaments were not suited to the service.

This was not the only incident that marred Cadet Spock’s time at the Academy.

The Admiral knew. He kept an eye on the Vulcan Cadet until he graduated, one of the Academy’s most distinguished.

Spock didn’t know, but the Admiral watched his career with interest.

And also a little apprehension.

It’s always hard being a trailblazer, being the first.

No one should have to contend with extra cruelty, with bullying and teasing.

And so begins Admiral Richard Barnett’s personal crusade: to have interspecies harmony and unity.

He begins small, with Starfleet Academy, proposing reforms and courses to the Academy Board.

New inclusion policies are made the norm.

Starfleet should not be entirely human, entirely full of top students fresh out of top high schools.

Starfleet should have diversity in its species and homeworlds, Cadets should be well above average, but not always in A’s and Valedictorians and Duxes. There’s more than one way to be clever. There’s more than one way Cadets can excel.

There are a few moments when he does have regrets; under these new policies, sometimes Cadets are admitted who just don’t fit.

Many of the troubles originate around one Cadet Kirk, James T.

He should have known that his own actions were going to bite him in the backside when Captain Pike came to speak to him, with that _look_ in his eyes.

But Admiral Richard Barnett never regrets going out of his way to help Cadet Spock of Vulcan, even though the now-Commander doesn’t know it.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Many, many years later, it is Ambassador Spock who suggests to the Academy that a scholarship be established, an inclusion scholarship for students who are financially disadvantaged, from cultures not well represented in the ‘Fleet or slipped through the cracks of the entrance examination. Students who show exceptional spirit and initiative.

The scholarship, at the Ambassador’s suggestion, is named The Admiral Richard Barnett Memorial Scholarship.


	24. Nyota Uhura

Nyota Uhura had just entered her second semester at Starfleet Academy. The beginning of second semester meant that she had had a few timetable rearrangements, new teachers, new classrooms, new electives...

So it was a slightly frazzled, internally only, Nyota Uhura who walked into her final class of the day.  Xenolinguistics. Her favourite. More specifically, this was a Xenolinguistics class on Vulcan.

This semester, her class was being taken by Lieutenant Commander Spock. The one and only Lieutenant Commander Spock. She’d heard of him, of course.

The only Vulcan to ever attend the Academy. A distinguished and notable graduate. Also, a notoriously harsh marker when it came to assignments.

She was up for it.

She’d keep her ridiculously good grade average, despite this challenge.

Never let it be said that Nyota Uhura didn’t relish a challenge.

She’d heard everything that all the other Cadets had said about the Lieutenant Commander.

_He’s a hard ass._

_Pointy-eared bastard._

_Iceberg._

_Sadistic, emotionless, overgrown elf!_

But she was going to overcome this. She was going to meet this challenge.

No matter what.

She was Nyota Uhura. She was a strong young woman. She could do anything if she put her mind to it.

So she sat down in the front row, middle desk, prepared for anything the Lieutenant Commander could, metaphorically, throw at her.

But even she was unprepared.

The class walked out when the bell rang, relieved, saved by the bell.

They’d been subjected to a long and difficult, complicated lecture. Nyota’s notes were so long, and scrawled across her PADD, without the neat formatting she normally preferred.

They already had a tedious, torturously difficult-sounding assignment, a set of translations, to do for next class.

Trust the Vulcan instructor to give an assignment in the very first class.

* * *

Three days later, Nyota handed in her translation. An excellent one, even if she did say so herself.

She’d double-checked and triple-checked, and even quadruple-checked.

She was not losing that High Distinction, 97.65% average.

* * *

Precisely one week later, the assignments are returned.

76%, Distinction.

She is fuming.

She’s not letting this go.

Her translation was worth more than that.

She was better than that.

She’s not giving up this easily.

So she stays back after class. It’s the end of the day. She hasn’t got to rush off. She can stay here as long as necessary.

‘Lieutenant Commander?’

‘Yes, Cadet?’

‘I would like to protest my grade for this assignment. I believe that the quality of work was higher than what you acknowledged it to be.’

He simply stands there, giving nothing away.

‘And why is this, Cadet?’

She takes a deep breath.

‘There are no mistranslations, you have commented on that yourself. The grammar and syntax is perfect. The formatting is correct, it is neatly set out-‘

‘Cadet, if I may interrupt, you are a Xenolinguistics student, correct?’

Her brow furrows briefly, but she quickly composes herself.

‘Yes, Lieutenant Commander, but I fail to see how-‘

‘As a Xenolinguist, you of all beings should be aware that there is more to a language than grammar and syntax. Though your Vulcan is technically without flaws, it has many of the common signs of not being that of a native speaker.’

‘Which are, Lieutenant Commander?’

‘It bears too many signs of emotion. You should understand by now that that is not the Vulcan way. There is also a lack of many of the colloquialisms and individual nuances that accompany any language. It is, and you should be aware of this, lacking in life.’

‘Vulcan is a logical language, Lieutenant Commander.’

He nods.

‘Affirmative, Cadet. However, if one observes with the required concentration, one will find that the language itself has many idiosyncrasies, ones helpful to assist in distinguishing the region of origins of Vulcans.’

‘I concur, Lieutenant Commander, but I continue to believe that your grade is unfair. You are being overly harsh-‘

‘Cadet, I assure you, I am not being overly harsh. Your grade is a fair one; I followed all Starfleet Academy Assessment Regulations. It is sanctioned by the Academy Board, should you wish to discuss this matter further with them.’

She is furious.

‘Lieutenant Commander-‘

‘I observe that you are not placated, Cadet. Human emotions continue to be difficult for me to process. However, I have observed this reaction before, and believe I can offer a solution. The following information I will inform you of is told in strictest confidence. Do you agree to these terms?’

She nods, biting her tongue.

‘I have accessed your records, and noted your exemplary reports and grades. You are to be commended. However, I have been informed that I tend to be harsher than the majority of instructors. I therefore find it pertinent, for your mental and emotional wellbeing, to inform you that I do not give High Distinctions.’

‘You are limiting your thinking, Lieutenant Commander.’

‘I have yet to have work submitted that meets those standards, Cadet. I do not limit myself in that way, unlike what you are suggesting.’

‘Is that a challenge, Lieutenant Commander?’

He is silent, still as a statue for a moment.

‘If you choose to interpret it as such, Cadet. If you do no depart now, you will likely be late for your evening meal.’

And without a further word, he leaves.

Nyota is left standing there, fuming, confused and ready to meet the challenge.

* * *

Safe to say, it is not easy.

In fact, by the end of semester, it has not been achieved.

They have yet to receive their grades for their final project. Today is the last class. Lieutenant Commander Spock will return their assessment today.

Nyota is early to class, as usual.

As the motley assortment of Cadets filter in, they sit at their desks, swapping complaints and generally moaning about the Lieutenant Commander.

He’s not the most popular of instructors.

‘I swear, he’s out to get me!’

‘That last assignment, he gave me 43%! Said my work was unsatisfactory!’

‘Vulcan bastard.’

‘I heard that the reason he’s here, and not at the Vulcan Science Academy was because they wouldn’t take him. They thought that his emotional tendency towards cruelty was un-Vulcan.’

Nyota stands and turns around, addressing the grumbling Cadets.

‘Will you all just stop that!’

They turn to stare at her.

‘Why, Uhura? You hate him as much as we do.’

‘I do not hate him! I just disagree with him on some matters, that’s all.’

Several Cadets roll their eyes.

‘Anyway, that’s beside the point, you shouldn’t say stuff like that about anyone, whether you hate them or not.’

‘But-‘

‘No buts! He’s Vulcan, they’re different. We have to accept that. There’s going to be cultural differences.’

At that moment, the classroom door swishes open, and in steps the Lieutenant Commander, face blank as usual.

* * *

Unbeknownst to his students, Spock had heard every word.

Every word of their insults, their cruel words, _everything._

Despite his Vulcan control, it had hurt.

He wasn’t emotionless. He was simply a master of his own emotions.

Or at least, he was, most of the time.

So it was not illogical that he felt gratitude towards Cadet Uhura for her defence of him.

He expected she would be satisfied with her grade for her final assessment.

* * *

Nyota Uhura beamed as she exited class that afternoon.

Her Vulcan had most certainly improved over the one semester with Lieutenant Commander Spock.

_High Distinction._


	25. Spock

Spock took an imperceptible deep breath as he exited the learning bowl.

He was now away from the protection it offered. Away from the isolation that he both loathed and loved, away from the knowledge that served as his guard.

He was vulnerable.

As they had thirty-four times before, the three older boys strode up to him, faces blank.

‘Spock.’

He schooled himself. He breathed again.

_Maintain control._

His voice was calm and emotionless when he spoke.

‘I presume you have prepared new insults for today.’

He already knows the answer.

‘Affirmative.’

‘This is your thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me.’

He’d been counting.

‘You’re neither Human nor Vulcan and therefore have no place in this universe.’

_That statement is false. I do have a place in this universe. Mother presented an excellent logical argument-_

‘Look at his Human eyes. They look sad, don’t they?’

_Mother says that Humans can look as if they feel a certain emotion, even when they do not. Therefore, his statement is fraught with-_

‘Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli.’

He is shoved backwards, towards the tip of the bowl. He momentarily struggles to catch his balance.

‘He’s a traitor, you know, your father, for marrying her, that Human whore.’

He can feel the anger, the emotion, coursing through his veins.

His attempts to do so are in vain.

He finds himself no longer caring.

_My mother is not a whore!_

 He is barely aware of what he does next.

It all passes in a flurry of emotion, of pain, of flashes of his mother’s smile, of her laugh, of her words, of her hugs...

* * *

His father was disappointed in him, angry with him.

At least, he would have been if he were not Vulcan.

Spock struggled with his meditation that night.

Finally, he reached what he believed to be an acceptable conclusion.

_It is morally frowned upon to allow a being to come to unnecessary harm. Insults to my mother that she is unaware of may not currently harm her, but may cause emotional distress in the future. I have a moral obligation to defend my mother, and although my actions are likely to be judged as illogical, the intent was not._

It helped somewhat, and he eased better into the serenity of meditation.

But there was one image that continued to slide unbidden into his mind.

An early memory of his.

Being carried by his mother, looking up at her face.

A smile.

* * *

Spock stood patiently as his mother adjusted the collar of the sweater she had knitted him.

_A most peculiar idiosyncrasy of hers._

Spock, there’s no need to be anxious. You’ll do fine.’

He believes she may well be more anxious than he is.

Not that he’s anxious.

He’s Vulcan.

 ‘I am hardly anxious, Mother, and fine has variable definitions. Fine is unacceptable.’

She smiles, and he must exercise his self-discipline to prevent a response.

 ‘Okay.’

She adjusts his collar again, but he reaches up to catch her hand within his.

 ‘May I ask a personal query?’

‘Anything.’

‘Should I choose to complete the Vulcan discipline of Kolinahr, and purge all emotion? I trust you will not feel it reflects judgement upon you.’

_I do not know. Would it be wise, be logical, to reject half of my heritage?_

‘Oh, Spock, as always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother.’

He believes that she will always say that, no matter what.

Stability logically brings satisfaction and comfort.

His mother is a universal constant.

She is, to use the Human expressions, his rock, his anchor.

* * *

Spock stood before the Council, looking upwards impassively.

‘You have surpassed the expectations of your instructors. Your final record is flawless, with one exception; I see you have applied to Starfleet as well.’

There was something there, something in those words...

‘It was logical to cultivate multiple options.’

‘Logical, but unnecessary. You are hereby accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy. It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much despite your disadvantage. All rise.’

Something welled up inside him, something that he had not felt in so long...

‘If you would clarify, Minister, to what disadvantage are you referring?’

‘Your Human mother.’

The magma coursed within him, building pressure...

‘Council, Ministers, I must decline.’

He knew it was rash.

He knew he may regret it later.

But this was his _mother._ The mother who had carried him, birthed him, cared for him, _loved_ him...

A fissure, a crack, appeared in his control...

‘No Vulcan has ever declined admission to this Academy!’

‘Then as I am half-Human, your record remains untarnished!’

The fissure grew wider...his control had slipped.

‘Spock, you have made a commitment to honour the Vulcan way.’

He could never understand his father.

This was his _wife,_ his _bondmate_ , that the Ministers spoke about with such emotionless disdain.

The magma within him began to pulse, course, out of the volcano.

He was pleased to note the control of the other Vulcans, full Vulcans, in the room was slipping also.

‘Why did you come before this council today? Was it to satisfy your emotional need to rebel?’

‘The only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude. Thank you, Ministers, for your consideration.’

Eruption.

‘Live long and prosper.’

He turned and left, never looking back.


	26. Sam Kirk

Sam Kirk sat back on his chair, lounging in the mess of his room.

His mother wouldn’t approve.

_But then, it’s not like she’s actually around to see it._

He reaches forward, to the antique music-playing device resting on his bed, a quick touch turning the volume up to maximum.

His mother wouldn’t approve.

It didn’t matter.

She was _never_ around to tell him off.

There were perks to that arrangement.

Like his perpetually messy room.

And the loud music.

Frank was off somewhere.

Not that he cared.

Jim was supposed to be at school.

Sam should have been too, but he’d been suspended for the day. An oft occurrence, if he thought about it.

A bad example for his little brother.

That’s what all Riverside said.

That’s what his mother said whenever she was actually here.

Like they would understand.

It was hard enough having his father die when he was just a small boy.

It was hard enough having an absent mother.

And it was hard enough having Frank for a stepfather.

Life was just hard enough for Sam.

How could anyone expect anything better from him?

* * *

It was late that night when Frank came home.

And when he did, he reeked of a man who had been drinking.

It was a scent that Sam and Jim had come to know well.

Most unfortunately.

Sam was still holed up in his room. Jim...well, he had no idea where Jim was.

His little brother was rarely found at home.

Not that Sam could blame him.

He’d get out as well, but there was little in Riverside to do or see he hadn’t done already. There was as little in their town for him as there was here.

Jim had yet to realize that.

Sometimes, Sam wishes that his brother won’t.

But Sam’s never really been one to go against the inevitable.

He knows what’s going to happen soon.

* * *

It is even later when Jim sneaks home.

Sam knows because he can see him from his window, climbing over the fence, hiding in all the right places so he won’t be seen from the Lounge or Frank’s room.

The boy’s clever, that’s for sure.

Sam turns back to his PADD, playing a game with some of his friends.

Frank’s snores have filled the air for the past fifteen minutes.

He knows Jim may well have been watching, waiting until now to come home.

Home.

How hollow.

The old saying goes: a house is not a home.

This may be a house, and a poorly-conditioned one at that, but it was not a home.

Home didn’t seem to exist for the two Kirk boys.

There is a crash, the sound of something breaking.

Sam swears, uttering a word that his mother would lecture him for using.

He doesn’t care.

It’s not as if he could have lived with Frank and not picked up language like that.

Just as he predicted, there is an immediate ceasing of snoring, and a cry of rage from Frank.

‘What have you done, boy? You woke me up!’

Sam can see it in his mind’s eye.

Frank, red in the face, beer in hand, towering over his skinny little brother.

Jim refusing to be cowed, staring straight back up, continuing to defy.

His brother refused to be broken, he’d give him that.

But if he didn’t learn to keep his head down...Sam didn’t want to think of the consequences.

He leaves his PADD mid-game, and stands, exiting his room to the source of the commotion.

Another crash.

His brother is good at dodging.

‘Think you can run from me, boy?’

Another crash.

Sam enters the Lounge, by now an utter mess.

His fears are realised.

Frank, redder than ever, and breathing heavily, like a mad bull.

And Jim, one eye blackened, still glaring defiantly.

‘Leave him alone, Frank. It was an accident.’

‘Don’t you get involved too, boy! It was no accident, and your brother here is going to see his fit punishment!’

‘Not while I’m here, Frank. Not while I’m here.’

Another cry of rage.

* * *

Much later that night, perhaps it is actually the next morning, neither of them is quite sure; Jim brings Sam the cleanest cloth he can find and some warm water.

Sam begins cleaning the bruises and cuts that adorn his skin.

‘I’m sorry, Sam.’

‘What for, little brother?’

‘This is all my fault. If I hadn’t tripped-‘

Sam ruffles his brother’s hair affectionately.

‘I’ve seen worse, little brother. Much worse. I’ll be okay. At least you’re alright.’

The bruises will heal, but Sam’s not quite sure if his little brother will be _alright_.

The younger boy grins at him. The irrepressible, trademarked, Kirk family grin.

That’s when Sam knows that, this time at least, his brother will be alright.

With Frank out cold for the next few hours at least, the two Kirk brothers sit on the porch, watching the sun rise, bringing a promise of a new day.

* * *

Jim wanted to cry.

He wanted to cry and scream and yell. He wanted to break something.

He wanted to run after Sam and tell him to come back, yell at him to come back, force him to come back, plead with him to come back, _because he didn’t know what he would do without him._

But instead, he just watched his brother’s retreating back, backpack over his shoulder.

_Because, what does one do when their hero has just deserted them?_


	27. Christopher Pike

Christopher Pike grinned, leaning back in his chair.

‘When’s the Yorktown coming back Earthside, Number One?’

His former First Officer treats him with a rare smile.

‘Next scheduled docking at Starbase One is in four months, and it’s Captain now, Chris.’

‘Still Number One to me, One.’

‘You are incorrigible.’

‘I know.’

There is a chime at his door.

_Damn it!_

The voice of his Yeoman filters through.

‘Captain, Admiral Barnett is here to see you, about the recruiting tour...’

The dark-haired woman on the screen shakes her head.

‘I never understood why you gave up the Yorktown for paper pushing and recruiting tours.’

He shrugs.

‘When the Enterprise is ready, I’ll be her Captain, One. And I left Yorktown in good hands.’

She smiles again.

‘Goodbye, Chris.’

‘Bye, One.’

The screen goes blank.

‘Computer, open door.’

In steps his Yeoman, doubtlessly annoyed by the delay.

‘Admiral, the Captain is available now, apologies for the wait...’

* * *

Chris Pike sighed, stepping out of the shuttle into Riverside Shipyard, stretching his legs after the flight.

He had just dismissed the recruited Cadets, giving them a wild night on the town before they headed to the more sedate, but only just, Academy.

Except sympathy for the young was not the only reason why he was here and why he let them go.

No, he might seem to be getting on in years compared to the sprightly Cadets, but he needed the break as much as they did.

It would be nice to knock back a few drinks, comm undisturbed with Phil and One, and maybe Cait. And he would never miss the chance to check on the progress of the Enterprise.

He could not wait to be her Captain.

And he knew that despite his stiff exterior, the Enterprise’s first XO could not wait either.

She would be done in three, ready for a mission in 3 and a half.

And he would be in the Captain’s Chair.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved the Yorktown. She was a fine ship, and she’d had the best damn First Officer in the universe.

The Enterprise would be a finer ship, when she was done.

As for the better XO, time would tell.

Spock may be young, but his time with the young Vulcan on the Yorktown had showed him that he had enough promise.

So it was with light heart that Chris Pike departed for the town of Riverside.

Of course, it being his life, nothing went to plan.

He’d long since given up explaining why crazy things happened to him.

He had once entertained a theory that it had to do with the ion storms he’d passed through in his career, perhaps they’d left some effects that were yet to disperse.

But it had been a while since the last now, and he was fairly confident that his hypothesis was unlikely to be correct.

It didn’t really matter anyway.

The life of Chris Pike was crazy, and that’s just how it was.

So when he’d entered the bar, hoping for a drink, he really should have expected the scene.

A red-shirted Cadet holding down a young man in civilian clothing, about to knock out his lights.

Almost without thinking, he let loose a whistle honed over years of serving on a starship.

The brawny Cadet snaps to attention, and he has the attention of the majority of the bar’s patrons.

He addresses the Cadets.

‘Outside. All of you. Now!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘He won’t even listen....’

‘I just bought a drink!’

‘What a freak!’

He sighed internally.

_Such is command...._

He looks to the boy hanging off the table, looking up at him.

‘You all right, son?’

‘You can whistle really loud, you know that?’

And without further ado, he passes out.

* * *

Pike goes up to the bartender, wondering if the man can identify the unconscious local.

‘His name’s Jim Kirk, and he’s the local troublemaker. In here most nights. He’s been running off the rails, with his mother in space and his dad dead. His brother ran away ‘bout ten years back, and that was the last straw. ’

_No, it can’t be..._

He seizes a PADD, keying in some codes, and a name, calling up the boy’s file.

_The boy’s a genius. Just look at these aptitude test scores..._

_Multiple offences, dating back to when he was about ten._

_The only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest._

_But there’s something about Jim Kirk._

_He never gave up, even outnumbered. Sure, the cause wasn’t great...but the fight was there._

_He’s got potential, wasted potential, but if it was harnessed...he could do something big._

_I’ve got a shuttle full of promising Cadets. The xenolinguist, Uhura, she’s gifted alright, but this never-say-die attitude, the spontaneity, disregarding of everything for the cause, that’s something Starfleet’s lost._

He comes to a decision.

He’s already done a couple of crazy things during this recruiting tour.

Perhaps signing up the drunken doctor from Georgia wasn’t strictly regs. But Chris Pike believes in second chances.

He was never the brightest Cadet at the Academy.

He remembers what it was like to be young and reckless, heck, he was reckless and regs-disregarding, to an extent, until he got the Yorktown, and One became his XO. He learnt the value of regs, but he knows that they must sometimes be ignored.

_Give the boy a chance._

Barnett’s going to kill him. Talking the Admiral into letting this kid into the Academy’s going to be a challenge.

But everyone deserves a second chance. Sometimes even a third. Or a fourth.

Everyone’s life is different. Everyone’s suffered differently, some more than others. Everyone’s got a story to tell.

But everyone’s story deserves a shot at happily-ever-after.

‘You know, I couldn’t believe it when the bartender told me who you are...’


	28. Leonard McCoy

Leonard McCoy’s day was going from bad, to worse, to crap, to even more crap, to...

He didn’t even have the words to describe it anymore.

First, Jim had gotten himself into trouble, _again._

Then the Cadets were called up to duty, and he had to go into space, and to top it all off had to smuggle aboard a very vaccine-riddled best friend. And knockout said best friend. And chase him around the ship.

Then he found out that Vulcan wasn’t suffering an earthquake, but was under attack by Romulans.

Then they came under attack by Romulans.

Doctor Puri died. He became CMO.

His Sickbay was overflowing with casualties, and he was running around like a madman.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he actually found out what was going on up there.

Captain Pike had been taken hostage by Romulans. The pointy-eared hobgoblin was Captain. _Jim_ was First Officer.

And he had got launched onto some weird drill in a spacejump.

That was pretty much all he got until Sickbay got a sudden flow of Vulcans.

Their planet had been destroyed.

Gone.

Swallowed by a black hole emanating from its core.

This day could not get any worse.

How could it?

He hurried up to the Bridge the moment he could be spared, intent on finding out exactly what the hell was happening.

As CMO, he had to make a report to the Captain anyway.

Leonard is pretty sure that whoever is up there hates his ass.

They somehow connive to have his day get even worse.

Seriously worse.

The Romulans are from the future.

Yesterday, he would have shoved a hypo into your neck and possibly refer you to psychiatry if you told him that.

Today?

It doesn’t seem half-baked to him.

That’s quite worrying.

Then Jim, the idiot, starts questioning orders.

The green-blooded hobgoblin’s orders, no less.

Sometimes, Leonard really hates his best friend.

And then he has the nerve to start a fight with Security.

And the pointy-eared bastard Vulcan nerve pinches Jim, and to top it all off, launches him in an escape pod off to God knows where!

_Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

His best friend has been jettisoned off the ship- to goodness knows where.

To somewhere in space- alone, with no assistance, no medical attention.

Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence.

And it’s even more dangerous when you’re out there alone.

Leonard was worried before Jim got nerve-pinched.

Leonard was worried about Jim before they even got into this mess.

Leonard is always worried about Jim.

But this time, he’s even more worried.

And not just for Jim.

He knows his best friend.

He knows him too well.

And if anyone could get them out of this mess, it’s Jim.

Damn the kid.

No no-win situations indeed.

He might be an idiot sometimes, in fact, most of the time, but Jim Kirk is a genius, and he’s got the gift of getting out of tight corners.

They need him.

* * *

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes, Doctor. I am aware that James Kirk is a friend of yours. I recognize that supporting me as you did must have been difficult.’

_Damn the hobgoblin!_

_Damn him!_

_I did not support him!_

_I did what I thought best for Jim, what was the best for everyone in that situation! I tried to stop him. I tried to reason._

_I tried to protect him._

_I know he was out of line, but emotions are running high. He was only trying to help._

_I did not side with you!_

‘Is that a thank you?’

‘No, I am merely acknowledging your difficulties.’

_Damn him! I will not stand by and let him pretend that he didn’t do what he just did!_

‘Permission to speak freely, sir?’

‘I welcome it.’

_Like hell you do._

‘Do you? Well, okay then. Are you out of your Vulcan mind? Are you making the logical choice, sending Kirk away? Probably, but the right one? You know, back home we’ve got a saying: If you’re going to ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don’t leave your prize stallion in the stable.’

‘A curious metaphor, Doctor, as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential.’

_Emotionless, Vulcan, pointy-eared bastard! You heartlessly jettisoned away a Cadet, a Cadet with skill and potential who could help, and tried to help!_

‘My God, you could at least act like it was a hard decision!’

‘I intent to assist in the effort to re-establish communication with Starfleet. However, if Crew morale would be better served by me roaming the halls weeping, I will gladly defer to your medical expertise. Excuse me.’

_Damn it!_

_What Jim did wasn’t strictly regs._

_It wasn’t truly right._

_But he couldn’t have sat by and let the hobgoblin take a course of action that may not work, not without some debate._

_Emotions are all running high._

_His temper got the better of him._

_But so did Spock’s._

_What he did was just as wrong, if not more so, and he has to know that._

_What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t stand up for Jim?_


	29. James T. Kirk

James Tiberius Kirk was having a terrible day.

In fact, that would be an understatement.

He’d been suspended by the Academy Board over the Kobayashi Maru, suffered the symptoms of Melvarean mudflea virus, suffered through being hypo-ed countless times by his best friend, walked into a Romulan trap, observed the wreckage indicating the deaths of the rest of his Class, watched someone die a horrid death via space jump accident, been attacked by Romulans, nearly fallen off the edge of a platform to his death...

No, Jim Kirk was having the worst conceivable day in the universe.

‘Olson had the charges!’

‘I know!’

‘What do we do?’

Jim tosses a Romulan rifle to the man who just saved his life.

He could definitely be friends with Hikaru Sulu.

The man was a ninja!

‘This!’

He fires.

There was something very satisfying about destroying this drill.

The satisfaction is quite short-lived.

Soon, they observe a missile-like object, launched into the hole in Vulcan that has just been drilled.

Not long after that, the platform they’re standing on begins to shake.

_And I thought that today couldn’t get any worse..._

He sees Sulu topple over the edge, unable to keep his balance on the rapidly ascending, shaking platform.

He hears a voice through his comm.

‘I can’t lock onto you! Don’t move! Don’t move!’

He hears Sulu cry out.

‘Kirk!’

Jim doesn’t think.

He just acts.

‘Sulu!’

He runs to the platform’s edge and jumps off.

* * *

‘Good ewening, Keptain.’

Jim looks up from his dinner. It’s late, almost the end of Beta Shift.

Why was the kid still up?

_Well, not technically a kid anymore...he is 18 now._

‘Why are you still up, Chekov? And Jim off duty, kid.’

The boy nods slowly.

‘Zen Pavel to you as vell. I couldn’t sleep. Eet ees wery strange.’

‘Anything troubling you? Go down to Bones if you need something to help you sleep, and tell him I sent you. On second thoughts, don’t tell him...’

‘No zank you, Keptain. I have no desire to be hypo-ed by ze Doctor.’

Jim laughs.

‘No, of course you don’t. But really, Pavel, what’s eating you?’

The younger man ponders for a moment.

‘I zink I may be a leetle homesick, Kep-Jim. ‘

Jim smiles.

‘It’s pretty normal, Pavel. I’m sure we all feel it sometimes.’

‘But ve have not been gone long! And zis ees not ewen a fiwe-year mission! Vhat vill I do zhen?’

He pats Pavel on the back, hopefully reassuringly.

‘I can’t speak from personal experience, but I’m sure you’ll manage, Pavel, you’re pretty tough. And everyone else will be feeling it too. We’ll help you through it. And you won’t be completely alone; you do have your little girlfriend.’

The Russian looks down at the table, somewhat ruefully.

‘I am not so sure about zat, Keptain, sorry, Jim. ‘

Said Captain raises an eyebrow.

‘Vell, eet ees kind of complicated! I zought zat eet vould be easy, since eet ees Ellen and all, but eet- eet ees confusing. And harder zhan eet looks. Zings are changing, but ve do not understand how or vhy!’

Jim grins.

‘You’re growing up, Pavel, your relationship is changing. I’m James T. Kirk, I’m most certainly not the best person to ask about this stuff, though I’m here if you need me.’

Pavel returns the grin, a glint in his eye.

‘Zanks, Jim. But who else vill I ask? I leeve on a starship een space vith a Wulcan, an Engineer een love vith ze ship and a diworced Doctor!’

Both men laugh.

‘You could always ask Sulu.’

The Navigator looks at him as if he’s kidding.

‘Ask Hikaru? Hikaru zinks zat silly adwenture stories and fencing ees good flirting!’

They share another laugh.

‘I agree. Not my best idea. Perhaps you could ask Yeoman Rand. She does seem to know where to get anything and everything.’

The younger man grins cheekily.

‘Vhy don’t you ask her for me? She has been looking at you funny, Kepta-, sorry, Jim!’

Jim rolls his eyes.

‘Off to bed with you, Pavel, it’s late.’

The Russian just laughs and runs off.

* * *

Jim Kirk leaned heavily on his desk, shoulders slumped, head pillowed on a stack of PADDs.

Earlier that day, his Crew had been caught in a battle, a trap, with space pirates.

They had lost their first crewmember since the Narada Incident.  The report had come through, barely an hour ago, and he’d already had to listen to Bones rant, he’d been consoled by him, in his own way.

It took the edge off the grief, but it surely didn’t make it any easier to bear.

Though a comparably smaller loss to the Narada Incident, it’s harder when it’s only one, it’s harder when you can acutely think about that one person, about what went wrong.

Jim opens one eye, then another, reading the name in big bold letters on the uppermost PADD.

_Ensign Wilkins, Max_

He’d been young, younger than himself.

The more he reads, the worse he feels.

The Ensign had a fiancée back home, parents, two younger siblings.

There were so many people who would miss him.

He’d been well-liked by his department, popular amongst the Crew.

Yet he’d never met him.

How could he have? He was Captain, he didn’t have the time, no person could know everyone.

That didn’t make it any easier. In fact, it made it worse.

As Captain, he would have to write a letter, to inform the next of kin and the family.

How does one write such a letter? How does one tell someone that their son, brother, fiancé is dead?

_Not in print, that’s for sure. Not in some formal set letter, typed out by a Yeoman, signed by the Captain at the bottom, along the dotted line._

His door opens, and in walks Yeoman Janice Rand, face pale.

‘Captain...I...I have the letter templates for the Ensign’s parents and fiancée...’

 He took the PADD and shoved it aside, under a pile on his desk.

‘Forget about the templates, Janice. Get Uhura or whoever is at Communications to set up a secure link, the Ensign’s parents in Wyoming.’

She seems surprised.

‘Of course, Captain.’

Soon, the link is opened. A middle-aged man and woman appear on screen, visibly confused.

Jim takes a deep breath.

‘My name is Jim, and I’m calling about your son, Max.’

The woman recoils slightly from the screen, hand over her mouth.

‘Is...Is my son alright?’

Jim looks down, avoiding the parents.

‘I’m so sorry, but he passed away a few hours ago, Mr and Mrs Wilkins.’

He turns away, giving the grieving parents some privacy.

He catches Janice’s eye, and she bites her lip, pacing back and forth.

He turns back to the screen.

‘Again, I’m sorry for your loss. I know that the brass will keep saying that to you, but I genuinely am. I never got to meet him during his service, but you should know, he was well-liked and an exemplary crewmember. I know it’s not much consolation, but...’

The Ensign’s father interrupts.

‘Thank you, Jim. For telling us in person, instead of sending a letter. My wife and I are grateful.’

Mrs Wilkins can only manage to croak out a word.

‘H-How?’

Jim swallows.

‘I can’t tell you all the details, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be telling you this, but he died in a firefight, confiscating contraband from space pirates...I can’t tell you anymore...I’m  sorry...’

‘...Will we get to bury him?’

Jim nodded.

‘We’re sending his body home as soon as we can, it should arrive in around three weeks...’

The Ensign’s mother nods tearfully.

‘Tha-Thank you, Jim. We- We heard all about you being a big hero and all...but thank you for telling us about our boy.’

Jim shakes his head.

‘It’s the least I could do, Ma’am.’

The screen goes black.

Jim turns away, flopping down into his chair, leaning his head on the desk.

He feels a hand on his shoulder.

‘You...you did well, Captain.’

He raises his head.

‘Thank you, Janice.’

* * *

Jim Kirk grins at the two nervous crewmembers before him.

They’ve never had a word to their Captain, never had a private audience before him.

He’s barely been aware of their existence, he thinks he had an Away Mission with one a few months back, but he’s not quite sure.

That doesn’t matter, though.

There his Crew.

He’ll do anything for his Crew.

‘Crewman Alexis, Crewman Hughes, I’d be honoured to officiate your wedding.’

* * *

Jim Kirk’s eyes snapped open.

_No- not my- let them go! Your quarrel is with me!_

Flashes of the past days ran through his mind.

As his head cleared, he began to get a sense of where he was.

Sickbay.

Sickbay on the Enterprise.

Safe in Sickbay on the Enterprise.

Safe.

And his eyes slowly drifted shut again.

Only to snap back open as the haze cleared, as more memories returned.

Before Bones can stop him, and ram another hypo into his neck, like he now remembers his friend doing when he materialized on the transporter pad, he makes a run for it.

Within minutes, he’s back on the Bridge.

‘Captain-‘

Spock turns to him, not quite surprised that his Captain is up and running so soon after receiving such grievous injuries.

It’s been a few months since the Narada, and they are beginning to know each other well.

‘Spock, we’re going back. Get a team together. Sulu, turn this ship around-‘

‘Captain, our orders were to extract you from the situation-‘

‘No buts, Spock. I don’t care what our orders were. We don’t leave our own behind, not if we can help it.’


End file.
